#y: 1940

[bwallure]

REBECCA (1940) dir. Alfred Hitchcock

[random-brushstrokes]

Daniel Sabater y Salabert - Santa Teresa de Avila (1947)

[buckyysdoll]

1940s! BUCKY X F! READER — જ⁀➴ who would’ve thought bucky barnes had a kink for a certain military rank title? — 18+ MDNI

MAIN MASTERLIST

“Yes, Sergeant”

Bucky’s hips slowed, and his hands at your sides dug in deeper, as though involuntary. His eyes had flown open, still fogged up with lust, but with something akin to surprise.

What had you just called him?

He couldn’t find his voice, couldn’t summon the words to express the sudden rush of warmth to him, the seize of his want only growing as the words went straight from your mouth to the length of his cock.

His cock that was already buried in you where you rode him, though now suddenly stilled. He was so hard it hurt to breathe through it, as in just two words you’d turned him on beyond he’d thought possible.

You caught on, had known exactly what you were doing as you’d done it. This was, after all, your intention. You knew exactly how he’d react to the title, just like if you’d told him “Yes, Daddy” instead.

And so straddling him, you leaned down with your chest flush to his and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He felt your sly smile up against him as you whispered, “You like it when I call you Sergeant?”

And James Buchanan Barnes groaned. He groaned.

He couldn’t even recall what he’d asked, but your answering words had eclipsed any question. All he wanted, all he needed, was you crying out for him, was those sounds that you made for him — for only your Sergeant.

Your lips at his neck, nipping softly, almost wrung out the most obscene sounds from his throat, and before you could cause more irreparable damage, he’d grabbed both your wrists from their brace on his chest.

You barely had time even to yelp before Bucky had manouvered, pressing you on your back. Now it was his turn to smirk, that old charm back to life as your thighs clenched around his bare hips.

Yes, Doll,” he breathed in response. “And I’ll show you just how much I do.”

[s0urw00lf]

All the time

Bucky Barnes x reader

The three times you called his name. The one time he answered.

1940’s era: James Barnes

Y/n l/n had regrettably found herself on a date with a something shed be called unladylike for saying asshole. To be fair her mother wouldn’t let her turn the man down, ready to get her married off before the war. She was currently at the movies sitting beside him as his arm draped sloppily over her shoulder and much to close to her breast for her liking all the while he continuously yelled for the movie to start. People all over the theater were ‘shhh’ing him but he didn’t care as he continued on, making y/n want to melt into her seat with embarrassment. You heard from behind you “hey, wanna show some respect?” Someone whispered. You turned around to see a small frail man, you mouthed ‘I’m sorry” and he just nodded back. Again “who cared, Just start the cartoon” he said. Y/n sighed about to get up and leave until the small man spoke up again “hey you wanna shut up?” At that point Tommy heard him and turned towards him.

Somehow you found yourself in the alleyway trying to pull Tommy off of the guy. “Tommy that’s enough” you said pulling his arm, he pushed you down hard making you hit your head on a rock and you felt the blood immediately pool down your face not fully aware of what was going on anymore, until you were pulled up softly “you okay ma’am” you were asked. “Yes, yes I’m fine he needs More help than me” you said pointing to the fight, not even looking at the man that helped you up, more focused on the blood running down your face. You soon saw Tommy walk past you and grabbed your wrist firmly “come on y/n” he said angrily. You struggled against his grip “let me go you pig” you said as you clawed at his hand trying to separate it from your wrist. He didn’t budge “let go of me you disgusting pig” you cried putting as much resistance as you could.

Tommy finally turned and gave you the worst bitch face and forcefully pushed you back as he let go. You fell to the muddy ground, and tears formed in your eyes when you looked down and seen how dirty yourself and your dress was. The two men had seen the whole interaction and rushed to help you up. “Thanks” you said not making eye contact with either as you tried to make yourself a bit more presentable even though those stains weren’t gonna come out without some stern washing. You finally looked up when the shorter man spoke “no thank you for trying to help me. I’m Steve by the way. Steve rogers” he said. You nodded “y/n l/n, wish we could’ve met on better terms” you said with a small laugh. “Steve seems to find trouble everywhere he goes. James Barnes” the other man spoke. You finally took a good look at him and you let out a gasp when you made eye contact with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.

He towered over you and his brunet hair only heightened his handsome features. “Oh, uh yeah I mean it happens right?” You replied trying to cover up how shocked you were at his handsome face. He smiled and nodded, making you melt a little. Suddenly you’d felt a little more self conscious. “Hey Steve, how about you go get cleaned up and I’ll walk miss y/n here home.” James says. Steve looked up at him in confusion “why, we goin somewhere?” He asked. James nodded “the future” he said smiling and handed Steve a pamphlet. Steve studied the pamphlet before nodding and making his way home with a nod to you and a pat on James’s back. James led you back to the sidewalk and you began to get dirty looks from people passing by, making you even more uncomfortable and self conscious .

James luckily noticed and started up conversation in hopes to distract you, “So, what where you doing here with, and excuse my language, an asshole like that” he asked. She sighed “my mom, she wants me married or at least in the process of getting married. She’s getting old and my pa passed some time ago, she doesn’t think I can make it on my own.” You said bitterly. You looked at him taking in his attire for the first time “you getting shipped out?” You asked. He nodded “Sargent James Barnes, shipped out to England first thing tomorrow morning” he said standing proud. You nodded lowering your head to watch your shoes as you walk feeling a bit disappointed because he and his friend were the first decent men you’d come across in all of Brooklyn.

“James Barnes”

—————

Winter soldier era

after being let out of cyro for the first time in decades the soldier was led to a morally grey room, by the same man with round glasses shed seen before she went into the cyro. Aside from the table and two medal chairs, the room was empty much like the rest of the facility.

The only difference from the rest is there was a lingering presence in the darkest corner of the room. All she could see was the shining of something silver. She made no face, showed no sign of weakness, because she couldn’t, she’d been erased of everything. Fear included. But she stayed on high alert, ready to defend herself and her boss. “Sit” zolo demanded.

She took a stealthy seat, not making any noise as she did so, not even as her boot made contact with the ground on the other side of the chair. She stared at the man who had also taken a seat in front of her. “You have been assigned a new partner, it he has been made to match your every move as if it was your own. You fit together like a puzzle.” The man stated.

She nodded letting the man know she understood. “Step out soldat” the man demanded. At the corner of her eye she’d seen it, the smoothest movement as the figure slipped out of the darkness and into the light. “Meet the winter soldier” said zolo. She slowly turned her head meeting the steel blue eyes. ‘Barnes’ the name had echoed in her head but she was careful not to let her expression shift. She looked back to zolo only to see him eyeing the herself and the soldier carefully. She chose not to make it known. “Do we have a mission?” She asked, voice hoarse from not being used in so long.

“You do” he said and smiled his sickening smile. A file was placed in front of her, the soldier came to stand behind her so he could see, she almost felt at ease. She opened the file only to be met with a photo of a blonde haired blue eyed man. Captain ‘Steve rogers’ America. “What do you want us to do?” The man finally spoke behind her. His voice deep and hoarse as well. “Find him. Bring him alive. Beat him to the brink of death if you have to. But. Bring. Him. Alive.” He demanded. The pair nodded in understanding, before bing dismissed.

as they made their way to the jet and got stocked up on weapons and ammo the name ‘Barnes’ kept running through her head. So much so that it slipped out of her mouth.

“Barnes”

—————-

Fatws era

The last time you’d come face to face with james it was after the thanos war, you’d lived with nat while you were figuring things out before then you’d been snapped and now you’re living close toSam’s sister Sarah, helping her out with the boys. On this particular day you had walked into Sarah’s house in search of some flour, as you had ran out some days ago, “hey sara-“ you called but stopped yourself as your eyes landed on an all to familiar shield in the hands of Sarah’s boys. “Hey where’d you-“ she began to question but the oldest shushed her and pointed to the couch. Y/ns brows furrowed as she looked only to see that all too familiar face, obviously just now waking up. She ushered the boys away, but was quick to take the shield before they slipped too far out of her reach. “Hey, I uh- i didn’t know that you were here” she said awkwardly. “I just got here yesterday. I didn’t know you lived here” he said as he sat up from his laying position. “Oh no no. I don’t live here. Like here as in this house, I’m neighbors with Sarah.” You said shaking your head.

All he did was smile at you in amusement, making your cheeks heat up. “Uh well i only came to get something, I’ll be out of here soon” you said slowly backing away into the kitchen. Helping yourself to the flower you’d initially came to get. As you passed him again, he looked lost in thought so you cleared your throat, once again catching his attention. “Uh i live next door, if you uh- ever wanna come by and talk things over” you said nervously picking at your fingers. He smiled that charming smile that had you swooning since day one and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind” he said. You nodded and backed away from the room and out of the door you used to enter the house.

a while had gone by since your interaction with James and if you’re being honest, you are really disappointed because you were looking forward to seeing him again. You are about to pack up for bed when a knock on your door broke you out of your daydream. You went to cautious because old habits die hard, you open the door to come face-to-face with James Buchanan Barnes. “Oh, hey I wasn’t expecting you” you’d said stupidly before you could think. You were totally expecting him, hoping and praying for him to knock on your door. “If im gonna be honest i want going to. Last time we’d seen each other we left off on a kiss and a barely confessed ‘I love you’. Sam told me not to let that go again.” He said sincerely. “ Well, Sam was right. Ever the wingman, no pun intended” you said letting out a laugh, as did he. Before either of you could make another remark, Bucky rushed forward and pressed a kiss to your lips. The kiss was soft and full of longing and warmth, happiness flooded you like you just took your first drink of hot chocolate on a chilly winter morning. The two of you separated breathing heavily

“my Bucky Barnes.”

“My Y/n L/n”

[myredrainbow]

Alastor with a Alice Angel S/O

I couldn’t help myself with this idea!! It’s just aaaaa- ok I’m only doing the Alice Angel based off her as in the cartoons not the actual game & also based off Betty Boop too. Btw this is taking place in the Cannibal Colony since that’s there time period in their town is based off !!!!

This idea came from @screaminhysteria so ty!!!!! Ahhhh-

One more thing - this works perfectly time period 1920’s-1940’s. Ah yes the golden age of animation & the roaring 20’s!!

Let the historical accuracy begin!!!

~~~

~As Alastor’s S/o you too tend to be seen in speakeasy’s or jazz clubs! Your voice beautiful & he’s radio host skills- plus so piano playing on the side.. most would say-“Golly! What a duo!”

~The first time you too met it was during one of your performances at a speakeasy, fine jazz playing and swing jamming. Walking into the room was an incredible atmosphere for him, since he loved the thrill of others.

~Singing in the center was you, others dancing at your voice. Others singing along as you sang, you were at your happiest moment ever.

~Alastor watching from his seat, staring at you. Your smile, your charm, the way you sway softly to the beat the music.

~Curiously, Alastor decided to take a shot and ask you to dance a swing with him. Breathing in sharply he made his way to the floor and towards the stage. You were about to continue singing but heard a soft-

~ “Hello! My dear, care for a dance?” You took his hand and joined him.. the rest was history!

~ As a S/o of Alastor, you are well protected from others. Especially when it comes to rowdy patrons in the speakeasy’s & Clubs, he will be secretly be scouting that Parton and “chatting” with him in a nearby dark ally ….

~ You on the other hand are very kind and giddy towards Alastor but in front of others, you make sure to let everyone know that your taken by someone special. Making sure to swat away hands from touching you while you’re singing..

~When you enter at speakeasy your always dress to perfection, the finest black attire. Sometimes you sometimes wear a beautiful deer fur scarf around the back of your arms, of course the fur from Alastor.

~Alastor loves your dressing attire, but he dose have to fend off unwanted attention from you when it comes to wearing more “flashy” attire. Most those that show a lot more skin than usual, but he tends so see you in awe starring at him when he “deals” with those who don’t understand the concept of “personal space”.

~At his radio show broadcast, he will always praise you on the radio and telling his listeners about your singing skills are beautiful. Sometimes you will receive letters from your mail of people asking you to perform at their business. With pay of course..

~Although he adores telling others of you but he dose tell his listeners that he must warn them that you are in a loving relationship and he will not tolerate those who want to interfere with your love life..

~What a gentleman!~

~ Sometimes you two will stay up late and slow dance to the radio, ( like a nice song will be “All the things you are by Dizzy Gillespie). You will be holding his hand while you have a hand on his shoulder, his grin- well unchanged but sweet. He hand on your hips & his head close to yours..

~ As an Half Angel, you do tend to view things differently from Alastor but you’d learned to be fine with it.. like for example, cannibalism. Yes you live in the Cannibal Colony but you aren’t a cannibal yourself, your just very good friends with the head of the colony, Rosie.

~She doesn’t mind the fact your aren’t cannibal but she just adores you as much as Alastor . As a friend of course!

~ Alastor is happy that you and Rosie are great friends, sometimes you too will go on outings around the town. Alastor trusts Rosie around you, even though you are half angel.

~ Alastor and you go on so many dates, at least three times a week. He’s always a gentleman, holding the door for you, pushing your chair in, complimenting you, insisting on paying for the both of you. What a man..

~ You know Husker & Niffty,- of course!. You & Niffty tend to go shopping for clothing together since you both have certain tastes in clothing, which makes the trip more enjoyable! She would give you her opinions on what outfits to wear for your performances!

~And you will tell her what shade of pink will suite her the best and occasionally have to calm her down when she see a male walking around.

~Husker has to push his manners button for you, because you are Alastor’s one & only so he doesn’t want to get hurt by him. He dose know what types of drinks you like.

~But you don’t necessarily drink a lot so he has fruity alternatives like, an strawberry lemonade, sparkling cider or a sherry temple - with extra cherries please!

~He dose like your company too, you will tell him about the bars that have a lot of gambling there and sometimes will tell him to go have fun while Alastor is in a good mood.

~You do tend to visit Alastor at his little pet project- The Hazbin Hotel, of course! You don’t want to redeem yourself but you’re supporting your love, no matter what.

~But when you meet the princess of hell, Charlie. You both question each other, another half angel half demon?. Do you know each other? But Alastor just just hummed sweetly to you, not to “worry about what you are! It will ruin your sweet charms”.

~ You would leave him lunch, usually containing deer meat and sweet honey beignets. The beignets homemade of course, since he’s from New Orleans.

~ When it comes to, killing other demons or demons selling their souls to Alastor your not bothered by it. You would most of the time just stare at the demon/sinner in quietness. But if they rubbed Alastor the wrong way, well you won’t show mercy to them either. “Please! Make him stop! I’m begging you! Sweet Angel!”

~Walking up to them, gently lifting their head up as their body- mangled.. you would smile sweetly, “ Sweet, demon.. how I pity you as an Angel. But for disturbing my Alastor.. I’m afraid you must die now..”

~And with a snap of his fingers, the demon is no more as you grin. Placing a soft peck on his cheek, his grin growing larger.

~ “ Now my dear, how bout a dance?” He cheers as he wrapped his hand around your waist, “I’d love too!”

~~~~~~

Aaaaaaa-! That’s the end!!! I hope you like it!! I personally love it I think it’s very cute!! Part 2 of Lucifer vs Alastor will be done by tomorrow!! And I can not wait for the last two episodes of Hazbin Hotel!!!!

~myredrainbow

[gaysindistress]

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest This fanart has haunted me since the first time I seen it and then I watched the Inglorious Bastards and here we are. There is nothing explicated stated but since Bucky is lowkey inspired by Hans Landa, take care of yourself and skip if you need to.

Footsteps and a knock at the door. 

“Mademoiselle?” the quiet voice of a maid drifts from the cracks of the door, “Mademoiselle are you awake? You have invités.”

The code word is what rouses the girl from her fitful sleep. Sliding out of her warm bed, the girl grabs her robe and slips it on before opening her bedroom door for her maid. 

“Merci, Josette. How many?” The hoarse voice tears its way from her throat as she steps aside for her maid to come in. 

Josette shifts nervously on her feet but stays put before whispering, “One but Mademoiselle, he is… he is the one from the papers.”

The girl nods as she listens to the frightened words of her maid. “Take him to the kitchen and tell him that I will be down momentarily. Give him a glass and a pitcher of water but do not offer him anything else and leave immediately. Wake Monsieur Pierre and tell him that you need him to take you to get honey. Do you understand?”

Josette doesn’t do anything, she just stares at the girl that she’s worked for for the last two years in shock. She begins to tremble and she grips her by the shoulders. 

“Tu comprends, Josette?”

She nods and scurries off down the hall, her blonde hair whipping behind her. The girl closes her door and begins to fix her appearance in her vanity mirror, rebraiding a braid she wore to sleep that night. She changes into her usual pair of cotton dungarees with a worn white blouse under and puts on the terribly knitted cardigan she made when Monsieur Pierre’s wife was first teaching her. Unable to find her boots, she slips on her oxfords and stalls at the door with her hand on the knob. She had hoped that it would’ve taken the bastard longer to find her but alas time is never going to be on her side. 

She pulls the door open and walks to the kitchen. She’d come to love this chateau during her months here and would miss it when she undoubtedly would be forced to flee. Pierre’s hushed voice draws her attention behind her but she doesn’t turn around. He’s telling Josette to hurry up and it almost made her chuckle. He wasn’t fond of the young blonde and would lecture her regularly. It seemed as though nothing would ever change from the sound of his frustrated voice. 

The flicking candle light in the kitchen is a warning, an omen really as she drew closer. She knows who was sitting in there, the man who had been haunting her dreams for years now.

“Monsieur,” she says in demure tone as she steps into the kitchen, “I apologize for my staff. She is a nervous girl. Would you like something to drink other than water? Coffee? Tea?”

“Fräulein,” the menacing voice that plagues her drawls, “you know that’s not how you should address me.”

The switch from French to German causes her to freeze internally but she doesn’t let it show. Instead she feigns nativity and she shakes her head at him, “I’m afraid I do not speak German, only French.”

He only stares at her. His sharp blue eyes are intense as they were before but the evidence of their time together is everlasting. A deep scar that stretches from his eyebrow to the bottom of his eye socket and a milky white eye in the middle of it. 

Her lip curls up in a smirk when she turns her face and sits opposite of him. He’s dressed in the usual attire of a colonel: an immaculately kept black uniform with a long black overcoat. 

“We both know that is a lie, Fräulein.”

She doesn’t respond. 

His own smirk overcomes his painfully beautiful face, “Drop the act, y/n. 

“I don’t know what or who you’re talking about. There is no act to be dropped and no y/n here.”

He leans back in his chair, causing the wood to creak and groan under his weight. He takes a drink of water while holding eye contact with her. Upon setting it down, the sound of gunfire rips through the air and she tenses while he watches for her reaction. When she doesn’t so much as flinch, he cocks his head at her and narrows his eyes. A car barrels down the gravel driveway and crashes into the ancient tree in the center. 

“I would apologize for them but that would be a lie,” he tells her. 

There’s a shift in the air and her demure french woman act is, in fact, dropped. 

Her accented German cuts thick through the air, “What do you want?”

“You.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“No.”

“I will burn this shithole to the ground,” he says as he pulls out a cigarette tin and lights a cigarette. He offers one to her and she takes it, allowing him to light it. 

“Is that meant to scare me into going with you? Come on, James, you have done worse than that and I suspect you will do far more.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees with a shrug of his shoulders. “But you will come with me, y/n. Tonight.”

“No,” she states again, blowing out her smoke and crossing her arms. 

“Defiant as always I see,” he mutters under his breath as he too takes a drag of his cigarette.

There is a long silent pause as the two of them smoke and stare at each other. His beauty hasn’t waned over the years but it’s turned deadly. The scar she gave him when she escaped him that night adds to the murderous edge to his gaze. The uniform that he wears is foul and makes her sick to her stomach. He’d promised to leave, promised to get away before things got bad. He’d promised to come for her once it was safe and they could live the life they had dreamed of. 

He’d broken all of those promises when he put on that uniform. All but one promise that is. He has come for her and he would be able to provide her with his sick verison of safety. 

“One of us is going to die,” she says finally whilst tapping the ashes of her cigarette onto the floor. “That’s the only way this ends.”

“No, Fräulein. There is another way but you will not like it.”

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Bucky love for you. ❤️

Those Three Words

Pairing || 1940s!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || A beautiful declaration of love.

Word Count || Around 400

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Mild Smut — implied sex.

Authors Note || Yay Bucky! He’s always precious <3 Thank you Navy! Had to do a drabble for 40s Bucky because of that gif <3

1940s!Bucky Masterlist

It’s been hours. Hours of you and Bucky rolling around in the bedroom sheets, deep into the night.

You couldn’t get enough of each other. Couldn’t get enough of your skin touching, the taste of one another, the breathless words of pleasure as you and he lost count of how many times you reached euphoria together.

Once you were both happy and satisfied with your prolonged adventure of mind-blowing sex, you held each other close under the protective bubble of the sheets.

His body lay tight against yours, facing each other as your foreheads brushed. The palm of his hand cradled your face, his thumb stroking your cheek lovingly. His other trailing delicate fingers up and down your spine. Your skin felt warm and fuzzy as he touched you so gently after his rough and determined behavior previous.

His eyes. You could get lost in them, drown in those perfect blues forever as they gazed into yours. They held nothing but love and affection for you—only you.

“I love you, doll. I’ve done so for some time now. I’ve never felt more alive and happy when I’m with you. You’re the love of my life, darling. You’ve touched my soul like no one ever has.”

Your heart burst with happiness as he finally said those three words to you, declaring his undying love for you. You’ve wanted to share those words with him for some time now but were too afraid to do so, worrying that there was a chance that he didn’t feel the same for you in that way, despite all the clear signs that he did indeed.

You rubbed your nose against him as you smiled in glee, cupping your hands around his neck to play with his hair at the back of it and snuggling even further into his naked embrace.

“Words can’t explain how much I love you, Bucky. It’s beyond what I can ever express. But I’ll spend the rest of our lives together trying to convey just how much as best I can.”

You both leaned in until your lips touched, softly and gently, sealing your words together in a forever pact with a kiss of love and joy.

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

Follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

[georgiapeach30513]

Bullet In Your Heart, Part 8

Summary: you and Clark....

Pairings: Clark Kent X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (F receiving), PIV sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, breeding kink, judgmental people, grief, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.2K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Your fingers dig into the sheets, and your eyes roll in the back of your head as your back lifts up off the bed. Holding onto whatever ounce of your senses you have left while you bite on your lip, it was the price you paid for having two small children.

Your back starts to rise off the bed, but his meaty hand press your stomach, holding you down. His right hand drives in and out of your core, while his mouth makes a meal of your honey. You can feel the rumble on your bundle of nerves as he chuckles when you slap a hand over your face. Muffling a scream you couldn’t stifle.

Clark’s mouth is a work of art. If you were artistic you would have already made a shrine to the godlike qualities he possesses. Starting to wiggle around, and then he curls those fingers. Hitting over your g spot over and over again until your body trembles. Still he begs for more. Using his shoulders to keep you good and spread. Your legs try to close at the overstimulation when his fingers pound into your sex. Seeing stars, you come undone, squirting into his mouth, and he laves up every bit of your juices like a man starved.

You’re left panting. Gazing up at the ceiling while your husband feasts, and you wait for the room to stop spinning. Lifting up to your elbows you watch Clark smirk at you as he wipes off his glistening face. “Don’t you look proud of yourself,” you huff out.

Clark nods as he stands up out of the floor. Picking your body up, he launches you up the bed before he’s splitting your legs, and crawling in between them. Slapping his cock over your clit, smiling even bigger, “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy that, my sweet little Cricket bug.”

“I really despise that nickname.”

“Why’s that?”

“The nickname of a child,” your eyes go cross eyed as he slams his girth into your body. “Oh my god.”

“You know why I like that nickname?” You shake your head no, and grab onto his hips as he starts a slow thrust into your body. Dragging his veiny cock out of you slowly, and leaving you breathless before he stabs back into you. “Because even though you’re not this tiny little girl anymore, there is this tight little cunt that I get use every fucking day.”

“Clark,” you whimper, and your nails dig into his back. “Clark, they’re gonna wake up.”

“And it’s time for us to have another one,” you nod your head up at him. Wrapping your legs around his waist, and you pull him even closer, yipping when his bulbous head grazes over your cervix, “You always did like me deep, huh? Like to feel me in your pussy for the rest of the day. Aren’t we going to that pool party?”

“What?” Pulling himself out of you, he goes harder than ever before. Moaning out loud, and he places a hand over your mouth.

“Quiet, Cricket,” he starts at an earth shattering pace. Leaving you begging for mercy. “I want you to go to that party with my seed dripping out of you. I saw Frank staring at you. There’s only one man you’re slutty for, and that’s me, understand?” You give him a head nod, and you cling to his back for dear life.

“Got me in a damn vice grip. My god, you’re coming aren’t you?” Another nod as your body becomes completely pliable for him. “Good fucking girl,” pulling out of your body, he flips you to your knees, before crawling behind you. Burying his cock balls deep into your cunt, he mounts you, and you have to hide your face into the pillows. “It’ll take this way. You're such a pretty little slut for me in the morning.”

You can feel him all the way your stomach as he splits you open. Using his body for his pleasure when you hear him use his strangled voice. “Are you coming a-a-again? It’s because you feel my cock throbbing, huh?”

“It’s because you’re fucking me so deep,” that was too loud, but you’re in a different world. Your body rocking with every hammer he does into you.

“Right…right there. Best pussy I’ve ever had,” Clark’s hands pull apart your ass cheeks, and he stares at where the two of you connect. Watching as he nearly turns you inside out, and your walls cling to him so tightly. “So fucking sloppy for me. Fuck — me!” One last hard push into you, and ribbons of hot cum fill your belly, and you look back at him with the softest smile. Your walls milk every last bit of his essence, making you all warm and tingly.

“That’s the one, Cricket. I don’t know if I want a little Lottie or a little Henny,” keeping himself inside of you, he adjusts himself down to his knees. Those crystal eyes look up at your satisfied face before back to the two of you. “I gotta keep it in there, okay?”

“Okay,” you whine. You didn’t want him to pull out yet anyways. “Clark?” He finally looks up at you, and you preen, “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Cricket bug. I meant it, you’re the best pussy.”

“I really don’t want to think of all the women you’ve been with while you’re inside of me.”

“Deep inside you,” he gives you a wink, spreading you wider apart. “You know, there is another hole back here,” you shake your head no, starting to giggle, “Dot let me…”

“Clark!” He starts laughing, spitting down to your ass, “No!”

“Come on. One time.”

“You’ve already came.”

“So if I get hard again?” You want to kick your husband off you, but then he looks back at your hole, starting to slowly slide himself out. Dropping out of your body when he just stares, “I love seeing how gaping I make you. God, I made such a mess.”

”Daddy!” The door handle wiggles a bit, and you’re thankful Clark was smart enough to lock it. It wiggles again when a big bang happens, “Daddy! Henny is in my room! Wake mommy up, and get your son! Daddy! I hear you laughing.”

“I’ll deal with this,” you say, standing up, and Clark points to your panty drawer. “Yes, daddy. Let me put this on, so I feel your mess inside of me while we’re with the neighbors, but you got to wash your filthy mouth. Lottie will want kisses. Go,” you motion towards the bathroom, and Clark walks towards it. But stops to pinch your nipples, and pull you towards him.

Slamming his mouth against yours, and you can still taste your arousal on his tongue. Moaning at how good he feels, “Daddy!” Lottie knocks on the door a bit, and he pulls back.

“I’ll make sure to fuck you again tonight, Mrs. Kent.”

“How about you let me fuck you?” He growls, and jogs into the bathroom, leaving you to pull on your panties and a nightgown. Opening the door to see your exasperated daughter stare up at you.

“What took you so long? Were you and daddy having a tickle fight again?”

“Yes, darling. Come on, let’s deal with Henry. He is just like your daddy, you know?”

“Wild man,” he really was. He was every bit as wild as Clark used to be. But marriage and children really calmed Clark down, and you couldn’t be more thankful. Life was different than you had planned, but you had finally learned to love where you are currently. Happy that you get to see Carter through Charlotte. She is every bit as sweet and loving as he was.

You give a curt smile to the host. Everyone here judged you for being with more than one man, and several hated you for taming Clark. He leans in behind you, kissing your neck, and placing another behind your ear, “They’re jealous that they couldn’t get me to settle down.”

“Oh, so Susie is someone you made a mess of?”

“Absolutely not. She’s someone I turned down. Such a prude. Here, take Henry, I’m going to go cook with the dads. Have yourself a cocktail,” he gives your ass a little swat before walking away, leaving you to kiss over Henry’s chunky cheeks.

“You know, I don’t know how you do it?” Judith, one of the more distant neighbors, says while walking up behind you.

“Do what? He’s really not that heavy.”

“Oh, no, dear, she means you and Clark,” you glance between her and Susie confused, and the host offers you a cocktail, “He can walk, right?” You answer yes, and she gives a point over to the kiddie pool. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure Clark won’t mind keeping an eye on him with you.”

Confused, you let Henry step onto the grass, and he runs right to his daddy’s legs. Crashing into them with a belly laugh, “See.”

“What about me and Clark?” You feared these women would never accept you as one of them. Bitter Betty’s. Throughout the years, the whispers never stopped. It didn’t help that you kept to yourself.

“Oh, honey, don’t get defensive. Of all the men that you could have found, you chose Carter’s best friend? Ain’t that a trip?” You smile sweetly at her, when in reality you want to gather your children and go back home. “How do they compare? I mean nobody was talking about Carter’s size, if you know what I mean.”

“What exactly do you mean?” Batting your eyes, you look straight at her, and thankfully her smile starts to fade.

“Don’t do that, it’s all good fun.”

“Yes, my first husband dying in a war is a riot. Thankfully Clark wasn’t drafted.”

“Did you ever, well, you know?” Judith shakes her head no at Susie, and you look between the two of them again. What were these women on. “I mean, everyone thought about relations with Clark. He’s practically slept with every woman in town.”

“Except you,” she shuts her mouth, clearing her throat. “No. I never once thought of Clark like that. In fact both of us were distraught when Carter passed. We fell in love during grief, and we fucked before we were married,” Susie gasps, placing her hand on her chest, and Clark turns around, now holding Henry. His face is full of concern as he watches you leave the women.

Leaning down to Charlotte in the water, “Lottie, come on, baby.”

“No, I’m playing with my friends.”

“Charlotte Abigail Baizen, out of the pool now!” You feel your cheeks inflame with anger as she pouts, climbing out of the pool, and Clark hands you the baby.

“I got her. Hey?”

“Don’t you thank them for inviting us either,” Grabbing Henry with a huff, and kisses his cheek you start to stomp home. Fuck all of them. They could go straight to the pits of hell for all you cared. They had no idea the inner battle you feel every single day. Feeling guilty that you can’t love Clark the way that you loved Carter because Clark would never be him.

But somehow in the midst of your turmoil you fell in love with Clark. The way he fathered your children. The way he looked at you every morning. You were feral for the way he treated you when it was just the two of you. It wasn’t the same, and would never be, but you and Clark had created something entirely different. You created a love that bloomed from grief and friendship.

Clark finds you in the living room, dancing around with Henry while an old record plays, shooing Lottie into her bedroom, when you kiss over Henry’s closed eyes. Humming along with the music when Clark comes back. He stands at the entrance of the living room, watching the two of you. “Cricket, go put him in his crib.”

“I need him right now.”

“Don’t use my son as a way to avoid this conversation,” looking up at him, you scowl. That isn’t what you’re doing. “Cricket, he’s asleep. Either you take him or I will.”

“Clark, you don’t understand.”

“Then put my son in the bed and explain it to me.”

“Your son,” you hold his body closer to you, wishing you could rewind the day, and never go to that stupid party. You didn’t need friends. “You never tell me what to do with your daughter. I guess because she’s Carter’s?”

“Go put Henry in the bed, and let’s talk about this because you’re being unreasonable. Now!” With a final kiss, you stalk out of the living room. Laying him down in his crib, and you pet along his perfect skin. He is one of the most beautiful little boys you have ever seen. Deciding it’s best not to make Clark wait too long, you walk back into the living room.

Clark is now in his chair, lighting up a cigarette when he looks at his watch, “That took almost five minutes. His room is just down the hallway.”

“You timing me? Can I not take my time to look at your son? I thought about stopping in Lottie’s room to help her change, but thankfully Carter’s daughter is smart enough to change out of her wet bathing suit.”

“What the fuck is your problem? Lottie is my daughter, Henry is my son, and they’re our children,” he watches your chest heave. Breathing angrily, you try not to shed a single tear. Clark has always been there. Was there the moment Charlotte was born, and you have built a beautiful life. “Why are we bringing up Carter?”

“Because he’s always going to haunt us. Because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, and you had to fuck his widow. Your best friend, Clark.”

“You weren’t complaining much,” you hate how he can be so calm when you are raging. You want to throw something at him. He is the reason you went to the party. “So why are we bringing him up?”

“Because those stupid bitches hate me. They hate that I married you, hate that I tied you down, and have your child.”

“They hate that you know what I feel like, and feel me everyday.”

“You’re such a slut.”

“Yeah, for you,” you roll your eyes, starting to walk away, but Clark stands quickly, grabbing your wrist, and pulls you into his body harshly. “You’re my little slut, and I’m yours. I don’t care what those women think.”

“But I do! You insist on trying to be friends with the neighbors, and going out and being social. And I go there and they talk to me like I’m trash because I’ve had two dicks.”

“Who the fuck cares?! Are we happy? Are our kids happy? Did I not fuck my seed into you just this morning? Cricket, I don’t care about them. I care about you. You don’t want to be social, fine. We’ll get us a pool. Get the kids a playground. You and them are all I care about. And I’m not going to spend the next six months arguing about Carter. He’s gone. And…I’m glad.”

You lean back to gaze up at him, tears filling your eyes while you search his face. “I wouldn’t want to have missed this with you. So yeah, you tamed the slut. If he’d come back, I wouldn’t have you and our home. I love you, Cricket Bug. You’re my favorite person, followed by a tie for second. I can’t change his death, but I can love you fiercely, and take care of you. But I will not be the other man in my home. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” he wasn’t coming back. You could have done so much worse than Clark. And this man adored you. Worshiped you every morning while he kneels before your altar. “But don’t say you’re glad.”

“I am glad. But I’ll promise never to say it again. Just like I promise I won’t make you go to one of those parties ever again. Now, let’s eat some sandwiches, and then we’ll go find a playset for our children. Okay?” You nod your head. They were yours and Clark’s, Carter’s in spirit.

His hands slide around your middle, lips starting to nip around your neck, and you let out the most adorable giggle. “Clark, where are the kids?”

“Lottie is out front playing on hers and Henry’s new playset. The swings are her favorite. And I just laid Henry down for his nap,” he twists you around. Grabbing onto your waist harshly, he places you up on the counter. Planting his body in between your thighs.

Clark’s hands swipe away the baby hairs around your face, and he starts pressing soft kisses all over your face, “The kids.”

“Shh,” he whispers. His mouth moving behind your ear, following on down your neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for the life you’ve given me.”

“It’s me that should be thanking you.”

“Why’s that?” His head pops up, and those baby blue eyes bounce around your face. You smile up at him, biting your lip. “Honey, why should you thank me?”

“You saved us.”

”Us? What are you talking about, Cricket bug?”

Your hands roam up his chest, and around his neck, “You saved me and Lottie,” he starts shaking his head no, but you cup both his cheeks, grinning. “You did. You didn’t have to stay with me, with us. I was a wreck, and pregnant, and you made sure I ate, and…you loved me when I couldn’t love myself. You took care of her when I was still learning to cope. You kept us alive. And…”

“Please, stop. I did that because I love you, and her. And I love this life that we made.”

“Aww, Clark does have some sweetness, and not just need to fuck me.”

“You’re ruining this moment,” both yours and Clark’s heads look towards the door when you hear your daughter scream. “Lottie?” Jumping down off the counter, you head towards the front door. That is a scared scream.

—

Charlotte climbs up the slide ladder before going down it again. Stopping at the end of it, and she looks back at the house exasperated. Henry always had nap time when she wanted to play. Huffing, she moves over to the sandbox, starting to play with the tools while she waits on her brother’s short nap.

A man walks down the road to the house. His eyes look around the property longingly before stopping far enough in the distance to see Charlotte. Not close enough to alert her, but close to hear her voice. She sings a sweet little song while her fingers dig into the sand.

The man’s fingers run over the picket fence, it has been freshly painted, and he sighs. Walking a bit closer, the girl spots him, and gives him an odd look, “Are you here to see my mommy and daddy?”

“Daddy?”

“They’re inside,” she gives a point towards the front door, and the door is open. Letting a light breeze blow through it, but he can’t see anybody. “Mister?”

“Yeah,” he asks, squatting down to look at your daughter closer. She gives him a little giggle. “What’s so funny?”

“Why do you have a beard? My daddy and grandpa don’t do that, no sir,” she said that word again. The man gulps before sitting down beside her. Sticking his hand in the sand. He picks up a wad of it before letting it fall back in the sandbox. “You don’t talk much.”

“I didn’t even know who I was for a long time.”

Scrunching up her nose, she looks at him funny. Giving a little scoot back, and even the man timidly scoots back, too. “What’s your name?”

“Charlotte. I was named after my angel daddy’s grandma,” the man gives her a soft smile, but then she looks into his eyes, “Why are you crying?”

“I’m overwhelmed right now.”

“Let me get my daddy. He’ll know what to do.”

“No,” he grabs her tightly, and she lets out a scream. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Charlotte, don’t scream.”

“Stop! Mommy!” The man goes to stand. Dropping her arm, and he sees the door open. “Mommy!” She turns running towards you, and you and him stare at each other for far too long. Seeing a tall shadow walk up behind you, he turns to leave.

You can’t believe what you saw. Trying to calm your breathing. It was all right, and so wrong, “Carter?” The man freezes, and Clark places a hand on your hip. “Carter Baizen?” Slowly he turns around to see you, but sees his former best friend behind you. “Carter?” He nods his head, and you gasp, covering your mouth.

Visions of your life with Carter flash through your mind. The moment a sweet little boy gave you a dandelion and told you he was going to marry you. Your first kiss behind the school house while Clark kept watch for the adults. The first time Carter touched you and you felt actual sparks fly between you. That first ‘I love you’. Every moment with your best friend, and the love of your life plays like the greatest story ever told.

Placing your daughter in Clark’s arms you walk over to him. It was him. A bit grown out and rough, but it was him. The same eyes. And the way he looked at you was the exact same. “I thought you were dead.”

“I did, too,” he looks back at Clark holding Charlotte, and then down to you. “What’s he doing here?” His eyes move towards your hand, noticing the ring on your finger. “No,” he shakes his head as tears stream down his face. “I told him not to fall in love.”

“What?”

“Carter, maybe we should go inside, and have a talk,” you look back at Clark. Unsure of what you need to feel. But Carter is alive, and he’s here. Clark turns with Charlotte still in his arms, but leaves you with your husband? Former husband?

“Cricket, what happened?”

“Life. Come on,” you aren’t sure what this means. Aren’t sure what you should think or react. But your Carter was right beside you. Following you into the house that you made a home with his best friend.

Getting into the living room with Clark now in Carter’s chair and Charlotte hugged up against him. “I’m sorry, bud. I couldn’t keep my promise,” hearing a creaking door, Carter’s eyes look down the hallway, and sees a little barefoot boy running towards you. Outstretched arms and calling for his mommy.

“This is my son, Henry Carter Kent,” Carter’s eyes slowly close. Swallowing the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. “Cricket, we can’t have this conversation with Lottie.”

”What comver — comversay — saytion…why can’t you talk in front of me?”

“Don’t make me do this,” Clark stares up at you shaking his head. Hoping you remembered the last ten minutes over right now. While you had happy memories flowing through your mind, he felt like his happy moments were being stole from him. “She won’t understand.”

“Tell me!” Charlotte grabs his cheeks, trying to get him to look at her, “Daddy, I wanna know.”

“What are we supposed to do with them?” Your words come out stiff. If you allow all the emotions to pour out you might just collapse on the floor. Everything is so overwhelming right now, and you don’t know what to think. What to do. What you had to do. Was yours and Clark’s marriage now a lie? What did this mean for your family? What did you want to do?

Carter was your everything. And then life happened and you settled into your new something. Yours and Clark’s relationship could be volatile at times. Things never flowed as easily as they did with Carter. But you two fought to make them work. Because you wanted to. Or did you just not want to be alone? And Clark was there accepting you when other men would turn away.

“Your folks can get them. Don’t make my daughter try and understand this,” Carter clears his throat, and Clark shakes his head no, pointing at him, “Don’t. She is mine. Cricket, honey, call your folks. I don’t want the kids to be part of this until…please, just don’t.”

“Can you give — just a moment. Clark’s right. Okay? They’ll be right here,” Carter nods. Having a seat on the couch in front of Clark, glaring. That was supposed to be his chair. His daughter. His home. His family.

His wife.

His life.

His everything.

It was all stolen from him. It should have been Clark.

Carter

or

Clark

A/N: Yes, this will be a choose your own adventure. So who do you choose? Carter or Clark? What is the right decision? is the decision for you or your children?

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @missus-shadowsinger @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @charmed-asylum @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @mrsevans90 @slowdownbeforeyouregretit @suunnnieeeee

[jadedvibes]

Promises

Summary: You’ve been arranged to marry someone else, but with only one night left before Bucky redeploys, you decide to make a few memories you know you'll never forget.

Pairing: Soft Dark 1940s!Bucky x reader

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, oral (f), unprotected sex, loss of virginity, corruption kink, slight dub-con, a little sub!bucky, innocent!reader, arranged marriage plans, swearing, pet names, fluffy feels, angst, manipulation, dark!bucky, 1940’s au.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Hi @mickeyhenrys, I am your secret santa! 🎅❤️ Hope you enjoy this soft dark fic that incorporates a Christmas Party/Mistletoe to fit my prompts🎄And a big thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for coordinating this Tis the Season to be Thot-y challenge!

Like, comment, and/or reblog to put a giant smile on my face ♡

The annual Hodge Christmas Eve party was always all the rage, the whole neighborhood vied for an invitation to attend the grandiose and lively gathering. Your family had always wanted to attend, and this year was particularly special because an agreement had been made and an invitation was extended. 

The families spoke and you were promised to marry Gilmore Hodge, the son of the town's most successful businessman. Your father was ecstatic that Gilmore’s parents agreed because he knew you’d be well taken care of for the rest of your life. The Hodges’ were happy with the arrangement because your reputation was exactly what they wanted for their son. Your mother taught you the ways of proper homemaking, ensuring you had every domestic duty down perfectly. Together with that, you were obedient and lovely, but most importantly you were chaste. The ideal package for a favorable young man. 

After spending some time being excessively primped by your mother to look your best for your future family, and finally putting on your prettiest white dress, you were ready to go. This was what you had to do, it was your duty as a daughter, and defiance wasn’t your strong suit. Plus Gilmore was a hero, after returning home from the war he had earned even more respect than his great family name afforded him — he was an exemplary suitor. You would learn to care for him in time. 

However, the engagement had yet to occur, and your families had only just completed their negotiations. The party gave you and your parents the opportunity to see what the Hodge family was like up close; although it didn’t weigh very much in terms of what was already decided. You were told that you were extremely fortunate to be chosen for their beloved son. There was a line a mile long to even be considered for him, but you were the kindest and the purest of them all —it could only be you.

So you were going to put on a big smile and spend the evening rubbing elbows with the high class folks Gilmore’s family socialized with, because it was your responsibility.

The main thing that had you actually excited about going to the party was that you knew your wonderful old friend Bucky Barnes would be making an appearance. Throughout the years you had kept in touch through letters, and he recently wrote to you letting you know that he’d be there; saying he knew Gilmore from his time in the service, and that he was looking forward to seeing you. 

As a kid you always had the biggest crush on the guy because he was so effortlessly charming yet still adorably nerdy, the perfect combination. He was a constant in your life, and you weren’t willing to give him up, so regular letters helped keep you tethered together despite the distance. Somehow through every candid letter you felt yourself grow closer to Bucky, even closer than you were when he was still back home. His honesty, his vulnerability, his hope to see you again — it made you cherish him all the more.

Your mother knew about your elation over seeing him, especially given his valiant return from the war as well, but she urged you to be coy and downplay your enthusiasm. She didn’t want you to upset anyone in a way that could thwart her plans for your future. 

Bucky had a good reputation growing up, and your parents took no issue with you having him as a friend. But that’s all it was ever allowed to be.

While you secretly wished for a different reality, you couldn’t help but feel euphoric about at least getting to spend some time with Bucky, the sweet guy you always wished your parents took an interest in. Nevertheless, it couldn’t happen, he didn’t come from enough according to your father. It didn’t matter that he was smart, and kind, and everything you ever wanted. 

None of it mattered. Bucky would deploy again soon, so you had to have a memorable last night in his company. You didn’t understand how returning to the war worked, but that’s what he wrote in his last letter. The two of you would only have this one night to see each other.

Upon arrival at the party you made your greetings with the Hodge family, graciously speaking to them and then eventually Gilmore, who already had a couple girls vying for his attention. He was polite, but cared far more about returning to his little raving fan club. You couldn’t blame them, not everyone knew about your arrangement and he did look nice in his uniform. The snub stung a little, but you figured things would be different once you were married. 

Sitting with your mother by a warm roaring fireplace, you spoke to some other women that had arrived with their families. Chatter was lively, with beautiful jazz ballads drifting throughout the grand property; setting the ambience just right. There was a good reason everyone wanted to attend this party, the food was delicious, the decorations along with the christmas tree extravagant, and the company among the best known in Brooklyn. 

Your body buzzed with excitement and anticipation, knowing that any minute Bucky would arrive. Trying to stay calm, you focused on socializing to distract yourself, but it didn’t help. It had been so long since you’d seen him, your heart didn’t know how to play it cool. 

However, all that anxiety dissipated the moment he stepped in the room, his eyes immediately finding yours; you felt yourself and the energy calm around you — it was only you and him. 

Minding your manners you gave him a cordial nod before excusing yourself and seeking out a more quiet place to greet him. You smiled politely at the guests you passed as you made your way towards a quiet secluded hallway, all the while knowing you wouldn’t be alone for long. 

Bucky smirked, stepping into the empty corridor, away from prying eyes and the loud music. “Didn’t want to talk to me out there with everyone else, doll?” 

Finally seeing him for the first time in years, you dropped your proper facade and threw your arms around his neck, clinging to him. “Didn’t want to share is all,” you breathed, squeezing him tight. He held onto you with equal ardor, before you finally pulled back to get a good look at him. 

You’d only known from his letter that he’d make an appearance at the party, you hadn’t heard his voice or seen him in the flesh for far too long. He still looked like the sweet boy you always adored, but something about him seemed different. His aura didn’t feel as light as you once remembered it to be, but perhaps you were imagining things. Given all that he’d been through you could understand if some things changed. 

But then he spoke and you remembered that he was still your Bucky.

“I missed you so much,” he cupped the sides of your face and smiled broadly. “You’ve gotten even more beautiful, doll. Didn’t know that was possible.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his kind words. Shaking your head you smiled shyly before taking him in some more. He looked so handsome in his dress uniform, a touch more mature and muscular too — but still your Bucky. “How have you been?” you beamed.

“I’m alright, happy I get to see you,” he trailed his fingers down your arms before finally holding your hands in his. 

“Can you stay long?” 

Bucky shook his head. “No, I have to get back and get ready to ship out bright and early tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” you breathed, disappointment running across your features before you remembered to put on a brave face. If time was that limited then you’d make sure every moment was a positive one. 

He brought up a hand and traced his thumb over your cheekbone softly, dark blue eyes admiring you. “Glad I got to see you and say goodbye,” he gave you a small smile before stepping back and putting his hands behind his back, subtly distancing himself from you. He couldn’t get too close, he knew about the arrangement you had with Gilmore. 

You furrowed your brows at his stiffness, things weren’t like this before. “We’ve barely even caught up, what’s the rush? Who knows how long it’ll be this time.” Or if he’d even return. 

“I can’t, doll.” Bucky knew he shouldn’t be alone with you, yet he also knew for certain that he couldn’t go on knowing that soon you’d belong to someone else. 

“C’mon Sarge, you’ve gotta give me something to remember you by,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I can think of one thing that I could give you before some USO girl gets her hands on you,” you grabbed his hand and led him down a quiet hallway. Mrs. Hodge had given you the grand tour, and you knew your way around already. Her attention to detail with decorations throughout the home was commendable, just as her hospitality. 

“What is it?” he smirked, disregarding the quip. The USO girl’s always paled in comparison to you. There wouldn't be another, there would only be you. 

You tilted your head up at the mistletoe tied with a red bow hanging above the door you’d tugged him towards before meeting his gaze. 

Bucky peeked up before shaking his head at you with a mischievous smile. You weren’t making this easy, so he finally committed to his decision. He’d been tinkering with holding back, but there you were under the soft light, looking so gorgeous in your white chiffon dress. If he could only have this one night with you, he was going to take advantage of it. Stepping towards you, his hand loosely cupped the side of your face, before he leaned in close. “I can think of something more memorable than this, doll. But it’ll do for now,” he breathed against your lips. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest when his warm lips met yours. Certain and deliberate, making you gasp at his confidence. The grip on your face tightened before his lips parted, and suddenly his tongue was sliding along yours, expertly exploring your mouth. No man had ever kissed you like that. No fumbling or hesitancy, only desire in his actions. 

A soft moan slipped past your lips, breaking you out of the impassioned trance you’d fallen under with Bucky, reminding you that you were at a lively Christmas party. If someone had stumbled over and seen that little display of public affection they would inevitably gossip about you; leading to major consequences if your parents or worse, if the Hodge’s heard about it. 

“I have to go,” you whispered, stepping towards him to get away. 

“Why?” his hands found your waist, keeping you trussed up against the door. 

Your fingertips rose to touch your lips, still tingling because of him. “Bucky, they can’t see us like that. It– it was a bad idea.” You’d never been kissed with such passion and it made you feel things. Things you knew you shouldn’t for a man you weren't promised to — even if he was the only man you ever wanted a future with. 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

“Bucky.”

“What happened to ‘Sarge’?” He raised an eyebrow, his hands slowly wrapping around your body. “Thought you might give me an order or two, using my rank and all,” he grinned. 

You couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You know we shouldn’t, you know I’m–“

“I know about the arrangement, doll. I know that soon you’ll be married. But I also know that I’m leaving tomorrow and I might not make it back,” he looked at you solemnly.

“Oh, Bucky,” you frowned. “I know. I wish I knew what to say. Is there any way I can make this last night a good one for you?” you asked with hopeful eyes. 

His eyes darkened, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I can think of a few ways.”

“Like what?” you tilted your head.

“We can start with you giving me an order,” he quirked an eyebrow. 

Taking a quick peek around to make sure you were alone, you placed your arms around his neck once you ensured the coast was clear. “Are you good at taking orders, Sarge?” you asked sweetly. Maybe you could get him to give you a couple more of those kisses that made you tingle. 

“Wanna find out?” he nodded towards the door. 

“You wanna go in there?” your eyes darted around. You’d never been in this kind of situation, unsupervised no less. It was unlikely anyone would notice you were missing for long, but the uncertainty of what might happen if you were alone with him made you nervous. 

He shrugged with a lopsided grin, it’d have to do for now. You deserved far better than a rushed hookup, and one day he’d give it to you. But on this special night in your company, he had to improvise. 

Biting your lip, you nodded your head before turning around as he opened the door into the small room. 

“This can be our little secret,” he suggested as he followed in after you. 

Secrets were good, no one had to know, this would be okay. 

Butterflies were in your stomach, your heartbeat erratically thumping in your chest, but then his familiar blue eyes were on you, and your apprehension slowly melted away. You trusted him with your life, you always could, and if tonight was the last night you had with him, then it ought to be an unforgettable one. 

“I’d like that,” you hesitantly tugged at his lapel, bringing his lips back to yours. His hands drifted down your body, tightening the hold as they finally settled on your hips. The chatter down the hall, the music drifting through the house, it all faded away. Tongues tangled, bodies pressing up against one another. Nothing but the present moment filled your senses; a moment years in the making. It was always supposed to be Bucky, at least for the first time. 

Bucky sure knew how to kiss a girl speechless. When his hands drifted around and a little lower, you were too caught up to protest, not that you really would anyways. Swiftly he tugged you even closer, hands possessively on your ass, his hardened length pressed against your torso. 

The sudden shock of it all made you gasp against his lips. This was wrong, and deep down you knew that. But you’d never been embraced like this, never felt wanted in this way, and surely letting him have his way with you would give you both something to remember once he was gone. This was all you’d ever have with Bucky, may as well make the most of it. 

When his lips trailed down your throat, when his hands deftly unzipped your dress and when he undid your bra, you couldn’t utter a protest. As your dress pooled at your feet you felt embarrassed for a moment, wanting to cover up; that was until you saw the way Bucky looked at you. Longing paired with a pleased grin on his lips. 

You wanted to make him feel good, if only once.

“You sure are gorgeous, doll,” he groaned, tracing his lips down your neck, dipping his tongue over your breast. “Sure wanna make you mine,” he whispered before latching onto your nipple. 

“Please,” you whined, pleasure rushing to your core in an unfamiliar way simply by his touch. You weren’t really sure what you wanted, you only knew that you needed him to give it to you. Threading a hand through his hair, you held him close as he lavished your breasts with his warm lips. 

With his eyes steadily fixated on yours he stood to his full height, unbuttoned his jacket and slowly sank to his knees. 

“Do you mean it?” He gently kissed up your thighs.

You didn’t know what he was asking, but in that moment there was only one answer to any question. “Yes,” you whispered. 

Bucky leaned toward your clothed core, hands wrapping around your thighs. “Say you want me to make you mine, doll.”

The smallest touch sent shivers down your spine, the way his large hands felt against your skin, the way his warm breath felt through your thin panties. You were his to do as he pleased. 

“Make me yours, Buck–” you gasped as he tore through the fine material of your underwear. Heat immediately rushing to your cheeks. His tongue slipping between your wet folds. He thought he wanted one night without having to give or take any serious orders. Although this was one he was happy to oblige. He’d gladly make you his, entirely his. 

“Oh, god,” you cried, arching against his mouth. Him and his soft, warm tongue were going to be the end of you. 

His tongue gently stroked up to your sensitive bundle of nerves, before two fingers suddenly slid inside your tight hole. This was so foreign, and so wrong, yet you couldn’t find the words to make him stop; because they didn’t exist in your mind, and you didn’t want him to. 

He fucked you with his fingers, building slow to start then alternating with his tongue. Your mind was in a haze, you couldn’t fathom how Bucky knew how to do this. But there he was, looking up at you, continuing his sweet torture with a possessed look in his eyes. 

He wanted to watch you fall apart, he needed to be the first to see that. Your innocence was something he desperately wanted to sully and he’d thought about it more often than he’d care to admit. Getting the chance to ruin you. Some nights it was the only thing that gave him the determination to make it back home. 

Your mouth fell open when he picked up his pace, moving more roughly, and you couldn’t stifle the cry that slipped past your lips. 

“Might wanna keep it down, wouldn’t want word to get back to your boyfriend now do ya, doll?” he groaned against your pussy, returning to his task, lips latching onto your aching bud while his fingers pumped into you.  

“He’s not my boyf–” you sharply inhaled as he harshly sucked your clit. Throwing your head back, you moaned as you felt your pulse throb through your body. Heat washed over you as Bucky worked you through your orgasm. The sight of you falling apart above him was an image he would never forget. He’d caused that, and he needed to see it again. 

Before you could make a sound again he was up and his mouth was back on yours, swallowing your moans as he slowly finished you off with his fingers. 

“You sure are a beautiful thing,” he rasped, grabbing the back of your neck as he kissed you ardently. Through hazy eyes you watched as he finally pulled his soaked fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean.

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “We should– it’s probably time that we head ba–” 

“Can I make love to you, doll?” His mouth cut you off, a tender kiss that let you taste your arousal on his lips. Heady and intoxicating. 

“Please?” he pleaded. “I might never get the chance, and well — you know how I feel about you.” 

Through countless letters and years of memories, you truly knew exactly how he felt about you. 

The least you could do was give your dear friend this final gift. He came back from the violent war once, and the odds of him finding that luck again would be even more slim. He deserved everything you had to offer.

“Okay,” you nodded your head. “Please be gentle.” 

“Is that an order?” he teased, smiling softly. Grabbing your hand he led you to the small bed in the corner of the room. “I’ll take care of you, promise.” Bucky swiftly undressed leaving him in just his dog tags, his eyes glazed with lust as they took in your body. This was real, you were there, you were his. 

Your eyes roamed over his broad chest, his chiseled abs, but then you stuttered a breath when you saw his hard thick cock. Oh god. It wouldn’t fit, there was no way. 

Before you could protest, his hypnotic blue eyes locked with yours, and you were under his spell. Your eyes lingered on each other's as the air became electric. He could do whatever he wanted, you trusted him. 

“Just relax,” he whispered. Laying you down, he softly peppered your neck with kisses as his fingers ran through your folds. You were plenty wet, but he didn’t want to hurt you. Mesmerized by the way you looked up at him so wide-eyed and beautiful, his eyes searched yours as he tried to ease his way into you, but he was met with resistance. 

“Take a deep breath, doll.” Circling his hips he worked on loosening you up, while you focused on your breathing, and then he slowly slipped further into your tight pussy. A groan escaped his lips once he finally bottomed out inside of you. Fucking exquisite. 

The intense pressure in your core was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, the feeling so different you didn’t know how to comprehend it. But there was no time to think, because suddenly Bucky was making love to you with gradual measured pumps. The sensation felt overwhelming yet more addicting with each passing moment. Your mouth fell open, and you opened your legs wider, experimentally trying to match his thrusts with your hips — that made it feel even better. He was so deep, so thick, you felt every inch of him as he moved in and out of you. 

He treated you with reverence, but with each stroke you felt yourself grow needier. Burning desire like a fire slowly building up in your belly. “H-harder,” you breathed, slapping a hand over your mouth before another moan could escape. 

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky mumbled, picking up his pace. That was another order he’d dutifully obey. He grabbed your knee and bent it up, hitting you hard in a spot that had you seeing stars. 

“S’ good, Buck,” you blubbered. No wonder this was a sin, nothing moral or right could ever feel this good. 

Bucky’s breath stuttered as he watched you; lust-blown pupils and messy lipstick, his pretty innocent girl utterly debauched all thanks to him. He captured the moment in his mind, burning it in his memory. Worshiping you, devouring you, ravaging the woman he dreamed so many nights about. He could never forget this. 

Tender lovemaking quickly turned brutal as he rutted into you roughly over and over, his face buried in your neck to quiet his own moans. 

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you let him get lost in pleasure; he was loving it, and you were grateful you could give this to him. Warmth started to rise up your body again, the coil in your belly tightening with each sharp thrust. 

“I wanna know what you feel like when you come around me, doll. I need it,” he groaned, pressing his lips to yours while his fingers swirled your needy bud. And like an order your body spasmed at his command. Bucky quickly placed a hand over your mouth to silence the sound you were on the cusp of letting out. 

Even though you knew this was improper, morality didn’t deter the way you responded to his strong thrusts, shuddering hard as waves of pleasure washed over you. 

“Bucky,” you mumbled, suddenly frantic with fear over what you’d done. He removed his hand and kissed you, silently reassuring you that this was good. He was right for you, just as you undoubtedly were right for him. 

“Shh it’s okay, sugar. I’m here.” He muttered your name as he came, relishing in the way your wet walls rippled around him. Everything he could have ever wanted. In the house of the man you were planning to marry, he felt bliss, love, and euphoria as he poured himself inside of you. 

Collapsing beside you, he calmed his breathing as you did the same. Both of you trying to process what this meant. You hoped this was enough for him, you gave him every bit of yourself, every last piece. Surely it had to be. 

But in his mind this was only the beginning. 

“I’m going to miss you, Bucky,” you laid your head on his chest, finally back down from your high. 

He gently stroked your face with the back of his hand. “Oh don’t worry about that, you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” 

You furrowed your brows and propped yourself up on your elbow to get a better look at him. “What do you mean?” 

He placed his hand around the back of your neck. “You’re mine now, I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to tell your father that Gilmore's out, and I’m in.” 

“Bucky, I can’t do that,” you shook your head with a soft smile. “That’s who my parents have chosen for me.” Sadly, it wasn’t up for debate. 

“You’re going to tell them it's me, or I’m going to tell them what we did. All the things you let me do, how much you loved it,” he ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “Now you wouldn't want that, would you?”

No, he wouldn’t. If anyone knew about this your reputation would be ruined, your family would be destroyed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was not the man you always adored. 

“You lied to me.” The ugly realization that your fate was unwittingly sealed fully dawned on you. 

He didn’t bother trying to deny it. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to take good care of you, I promise,” he smiled. “Get dressed, we have a tough conversation to attend to.” 

“Bucky, I–”

“You trust me don’t you?” He tilted your chin, forcing you to meet his dark gaze. 

Not anymore. Hesitantly, you nodded your head. There was nothing more you could do.  

He gave you a saccharine smile. “You told me to make you mine, and that’s what I did. Now c’mon we have a beautiful future to begin, and maybe we can fit in a dance before I take you home; well what will be your home for a short while longer,” he chuckled. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you wordlessly retrieved and redressed yourself in the wrinkled garments strewn across the room. Disgust overcame you, tarnishing the emotions behind what you thought would be a beautiful memory you’d always cherish. 

Turns out your best friend wasn’t deploying and you belonged to him now. By some miracle, or more accurately some misfortune, he made it back home — and you were the reward for all his hard work. The violence and destruction he witnessed and took part in changed him, more than you could tell at first glance. 

You thought offering him your innocence before redeployment would be a sweet consolation prize. Never did you imagine your new reality, becoming Sergeant Barnes’ most prized possession. 

[nexusnyx]

to my sweetheart

40s!bucky barnes x f!reader [8.2k] summary: The promise of a weekend home hangs over Bucky's head like the sun used to shine on sweet summer days, illuminating everything in life. It's all planned out in his head: the place he'll take you to, the things he wants to talk about, the hundreds of ways he needs to touch you. It's all planned. A taste of how it'll be when the storm passes—he's ready for it. 📝 this was based on this post. if you like it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. i hope you enjoy this sweetheart saturday, 'cause this will be the sweetest one. 🏷️ established relationship, letters, angst, longing, love delcarations, Steve x Reader (platonic) ⚠️Smut. Minors, DNI. Unprotected sex, body worship, slow fuck.

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ㅤㅤㅤJuly, 1943.

My sweetheart,

You're a menace even from far away. How can that be? If I hadn't met you exactly like this, I'd dare say I'm surprised. But I'm not. Little minx. Do you know the lengths of what I had to do to finish your last letter? The effects you have on me, even from far away?

I bet you do. Good god, I can bet you're fuckin' smiling, right now. Sittin' there all pretty with your knees pulled high, so giddy and proud of yourself for what you've done to me. Well—let it be known that this here... this is payback.

First things first, thank you for the pictures.

You're more than I could ever ask for, every single time. One of them is safely tucked inside my uniform. I placed the other one inside my pocket watch. Morita's already laughed under his breath as if I can't fuckin' hear him sayin "you don't let a single hour pass by, huh, Sarge?", so you should be happy to know that, as well. My guys are giggling because of me. Because I'm whipped for you.

Second of all... thank you.

From the bottom of my heart which belongs to you entirely, I'm thankful for you. Knowing Ma has a friend in someone soothes my soul. I got a letter from her a few days ago—she's mad at me for dating you "for almost half of an entire year, James Buchanan. almost half a year and you didn't think to bring her here yourself! You'll count yourself lucky if you go back to the base camp with your ears still intact because when I see you..." and this is a direct quote, by the way. I have her letter right next to me—Ma's mad, and I'm glad that she is. It means she loved ya. As I knew she would.

What did you two talk about? Ma said you played with the girls, too. I think I dreamt of that scene. Did she show you my embarrassing baby pictures? I bet she did. My favorite one is the one that Stevie's got paint all over him; I love that one.

Now... as for the rest of your letter.

What should I do to you, hm?

You can't just tell me these things, you lil' witch. Can't just talk about the things you wished I was doing to you, 'cause I'm not there to do them, and it makes my chest tight, my heart beating faster.

I went to the showers at 2 something a.m. to finish that letter, 'cause I felt your words like caresses all over my skin. Here's a new acronym I learned from Gabe: V E N I C E. Wanna know what it means? I'll tell ya.

It means I think about it, too. Not often, unfortunately, not because I don't want to, but because in here I have very few moments to think about good things, but when I do, that's where my mind goes to—in the sweet minutes I have all to myself, my mind runs back to your presence like a puppy, wiggling its tail with its tongue out, so happy and so excited beyond words because of one single person.

My mind rushes to you, to memories of us, to moments we shared. Most of all, it seems to zoom in on the seconds where we were the closest. I save those memories for the stars, for when no one else's around, for when I can let my brain dive and swim in them.

You said that for you, what comes back when you're alone in the dark is the ghost of my hands.

For me, it's the fathom of your lips.

The way you kissed put a spell on me. Right now, as I write this, I'm sitting alone in a corner of the common showers with my neck sweating just a little bit and my heart beating in my throat, all because of that: the thought of your lips, so present and so sweet, making me ache all over. Should I be concerned, lil' witch? With the way you have control over my body even from far away? As if I were a puppet with strings only you can see, I'm aching for you and you're not even here. I'm hard, painfully so, because your picture and the distant echo of your giggles in my ear are enough to put me in a trance... the way you whisper my name when my hands are searching in menace ways the best path to get under your clothes and imprinted all over your skin... It's so difficult to write like this, sweetheart. Very Excited, Now I Caress Everywhere... d'you get it now? D'you see it?

I'm not there, but I can see you reading this. I can see your thighs clamping together in a pitiful attempt to not think about how I loved to tease the path to my favorite place, with my hands, my lips, my tongue. I'm gonna dream about it tonight, I can already see it. Gonna dream about your little whines, and how excited you got, while always being so good. Never asked for more. Never pushed for faster. Just took whatever I had to offer you, and asked in the sweetest way possible for what you wanted. "Jay." I miss that. The way you call me Jay when it's just us. No one's ever called me that before, and no one ever will again.

So do it, lil' witch. Touch yourself all you want when thinking about me. You had to ask for permission, didn't ya? (It's a rhetorical question. You never have to ask. I told ya long ago that from me, you can take and take without ever asking first, and yet you did, anyway.) I'm the luckiest bastard in this godforsaken and twisted world, all because of you.

I'll be there on the last weekend of this month, only for two days, but it'll be enough.

Just a taste of what'll come for us when all of this is over. A taste of you — that I miss so goddamn fuckin' much, Jesus Christ, sweetheart — and hours and hours of making you smile until it's imprinted in the walls of my brain, secured safe and sound in the labyrinth of my mind.

Wait for me, but never sadly. Keep up your studies, and focus on them just as I focus on work here whenever I have to. Talk to your friends, stay clear of those damn radios that only make you anxious and get you to bite your pretty nails, take Steve out for walks and keep that neighborhood in check, the two of you. I'll be back. I'll always come back to you.

With love in my heart (and because of your menace ways, my hand in my pants), I say goodbye for now,

V.E.N.I.C.E;

always yours, J.B.B.

In a month and a half, Bucky has written and read more than in the past decade, at least.

You'd scold him for admitting such a thing so easily, but it was true.

There are a few letters exchanged by now—the U.S. Postal is doing their best, but can only do so much—but they're enough on their own. More than two, sometimes 3 pages long, filled with more post scrimptums than anyone else rather than you two would care to read and it's probably acceptable, and always signed with a lot of love.

It's a whole new world created between the two of you where childhood memories are shared, secret fears that neither Bucky nor you ever imagined talking about are laid on the table, and all of that written between paragraphs of gossip stories from home or the military base, and dirty dreams and wishes.

A mess. An entire conversation—one with topics that go back and forth since the first letter and short pieces of dialogue you two shared with important people; it's the best conversation he's ever had.

The longest. Deepest.

ㅤㅤㅤ"I love talking to you, Jay. If before I thought we were two peas in a pod, now I'm certified of it the same way I'm certain the Sun rises in the East to set in West. Can you see the same thing I do? Sometimes, it feels as if we're sittin' on our porch, on our living room armchairs, laughing to one another about the sweet memories or silly theories that only we find amusement in."

Through you, Bucky hears things his Ma is saying. Gets news from his two younger sisters, as well as realistic check-ups on Steve.

In one of your letters, you said, "you know, I'm starting to feel calluses. I dreamt of writing dark children's books for so long, and I think this is my punishment, in some sort of way. How in the hell am I having an argument with Steve and you through here? You two are wrong. We talked about this before and I'll say it as many times as needed: this whole 'trip to the future' thing is hiding something bigger, and it's cute that you two think that geniuses and billionaires are just giving us all of their biggest developments. Truly adorable," and it had sparked the favorite topic in his unit: the existence of aliens, or not.

You're there without being there.

Most of them don't even know about you, of course. Bucky's private, and likes to be that way.

Morita, Gabriel, and Dum Dum are exceptions—those tree men proved to be the exact type of company a fella needs when facing an untamed and suffocating darkness.

They teased Bucky about his alone 'poet' time. When the time in July finally came for the soldiers to be dismissed for a weekend home before being shipped to London, Morita bid him goodbye with, "and see if you do something else other than writing back home, eh, Sarge?"

Bucky would.

He barely gets any sleep, waiting for the time when he'll be sharing your presence and counting each minute of it, placing them in the same precious box he kept your words.

With his eyes closed, the smile sets in stone on his face.

To any onlookers that pass him by, Sgt. James Barnes looks at peace.

Everything around him feels sharp and colorful.

Bucky almost feels surreal—his energy is humming underneath his skin, scorching as hot as the star that starts to rise.

He breathes in deeply as he steps out of the train, welcoming the smell of home.

Brooklyn is a hive of noise, so loud and different than anything he'd been used to these past weeks, and he strides in confidence towards his destinies.

For each of his people, Bucky told a story, but all for a good reason:

First, he has to visit his family. If he had told Steve about the time his train arrived, he'd be there without any regard for his sleep and comfort, and Bucky loved him too much to pull him out of bed before the sky had even lost its dark blue tones.

So first, he goes to the Barnes household.

Bringing bread, he steps inside his home almost feeling like the first rays of sunshine itself. Bucky's welcomed by the oldest feeling of attached to being safe and sound when Winnifred's arms wrap around him and she lets out a choked gasp at his name.

"James," is the first name he hears.

He's James during breakfast while he updates his mother to the best of his abilities, and fights the persistent sting in his eyes whenever the light illuminates her dark hairs, shining evidence in her new silver strands. He's James — but in a scolding tone — when his mother hears that he omitted from Steve his arrival time, and he's oh, James when his plans for later tonight are laid on the table in a soft, almost shy-spoken tone.

"I really like her, you know?" his mother tells him.

She's leaning against the sink with her ruby red robe, the soft slippers he bought for her as a present, and her hair held up in a bun. Bucky smiles at the approval, ignoring the heat in his cheeks that blossom at his mother's all-knowing gaze and the glint in her blue eyes. "I'm glad to hear that, ma."

Winnie does no effort to hide how pleased she is, and he has to admit that the teasing face he catches in reflections sometimes came from one person, and it wasn't his father. "Will I get to spend some time together with the two of you, at least?"

According to Bucky's plans, very little, because the time was as counted as their paychecks. "Well—today I'm gonna have lunch with Steve, then the three of us will meet up."

"Right."

"We'll probably hang around Stevie and I's apartment. Then we'll get ready to go to the Stark exhibition."

Winnie's are you serious look reminds Bucky that she never saw the three of you all hanging around together. "Really, James?"

"What?"

"You're gonna bring that poor, sweet boy to chaperone and be a third wheel at your date? Son," the title is another scolding and meant to serve as a tug in his ear.

He can't help it—Bucky laughs. "Mom," he teases right back. "That 'poor sweet boy' will be just fine." He snorted—there was nothing poor nor sweet about Steve. "The three of us are friends."

"And I'm not doubting that for a second. I'm just sayin'. Does he need to be there on the date? Does he even want to?"

"They already argued about this and the final conclusion was, apparently, that yes, he does." Bucky had to bite his lip at those bits in your last letter—even through ink and paper, he could see you and Steve as clear as daylight. "Steve and her are really good friends, Ma. She knows how much I miss him, and she claims that he's been even more annoyin' about stuff, mumbling shit—sorry, mumbling stuff about 'Bucky this' and 'Bucky that', so she ain't havin' it. Plus, it's not like the two of us can't behave. We never made Stevie feel left out."

His mother chuckled. "For some reason I find it hard to believe that you two are not the grossest thing together."

"What?!" his laughter intensifies. "You never saw us together."

"And whose fault is that, hm? Hm?" Winnie's look pierces through him as the last drops of her coffee seep to the cup, and she grabs her cup like a ninja, with eyes still glued on him and her head shaking, no need for a single glance to where her hands are going. His mother sips, and Bucky's laughter subsidies to a smile. "Well, I'm glad you she's generous enough to share ya." Her whole face softens. "Bubba's right. Steve's been missing ya a lot."

Bubba. Bucky forgets how to breathe for a single second. "Bubba?"

The name that his mother calls the girls—Bubs, Bubba, baby.

Winnie smiles behind the cup, and he's not sure if her happiness is directed at him because of how he looks, or at the whole situation. "Yes, James. The woman who's been comin' to my house for two months now, havin' almost daily cups of tea with me to talk about life and the perils of life is, to your surprise and delight, my Bubba. Are you really surprised?" Her next chuckle is as sweet as her coffee must be. "I like her. I told ya already."

"I can see that."

His mother moves to sit in the chair in front of him. "And you haven't answered my question yet, young man." She crosses her legs and offers her coffee for him to sip, which he does. Gods, this woman is a bee. He returns it with a grimace.

"Right, as I was sayin', today we're going to the Stark fair, the three of us. Eat a hot dog, be annoyin' at the square, drink a couple of beers. Then tomorrow, uh—"

"You two love birds will be together all day, yes, I can imagine."

He's thankful his mother saves him from saying the embarrassing bits, at least. "I have to go back on Monday."

"What time?"

"Thirteen hundred train."

"So there's time for breakfast?"

His smile returns. "Yeah, Ma. There's time for breakfast together."

Across the table, his smile seems to be reflected back at him. It looks a little older, with more crinkles around the corners and kissing the side of the eyes, but the same smile nonetheless. "Now I'm happy." She sips the coffee, humming in pleasure. "And what's so interesting at this fair?"

"Was that Bucky's voice?! Ma! Is Bucky here?!"

Ah, that screeching tone.

The second name he hears—Bucky.

Screamed at the top of her lungs by Rebecca, and later by a still sleepy Dorca, Bucky's greets with open arms his young rascals and spins them in the air, so lucky to have their laughter be the only sound he hears once again.

He does his best that whole morning to imprint every second spent with them like a tattoo in the malleable muscle of his brain. He wants Rebecca's slightly nasal and bossy tone to be of easy access when he's far away. He wants to not forget how long Dorca's hair is getting, or how much his mother still has control of this entire house at the tip of her fingers as if she's a powerful spider whose webs are invisible, but stronger than the eyes behold.

Before he leaves, he takes them for ice cream. Bucky asks all sorts of questions, trying to squeeze as much as he can in only a few hours, knowing that no amount of time feels enough nowadays.

Later, there's Buck.

"Hey, Buck."

It's a second homecoming.

This one, it tastes like a little bit of everything. "Hey, Stevie." The tiny frame that fits in his embrace as if it were a puzzle piece, it smells like childhood and teenage years all mushed together. "Glad to see you're in one piece."

It's a jab to the fact that his best friend and soulmate was about to get into a fight just seconds before Bucky finds him, and it was met with an ocean-cold stare. Blue meets blue, and Bucky can only laugh.

"Oh, shut up," Steve rolls his eyes. "I hate that I let them go—fucking bastards."

"Hey, hey; you can't fight 'em—"

"Can't fight 'em all, I know, punk, I know." Steve sighs, but when he looks at Bucky again, his gaze softens. Something clicks, and Steve seems to come back to himself. "You sound like Father Chase," his snorted laugh means it's Bucky's time to scoff.

"Maybe because he had a point?"

"Always did. Doesn't change the facts."

"And what are the facts?"

"The facts, Buck, are that you're a softie," before he can come up with an answer, Bucky's frame is pushed back by the force of it—Steve doesn't go for it, he lunges for another hug, body crashing against Bucky's. "'m glad you're back."

The facts must be true, if only when it came to Steve, at least. "Punk," he mutters against soft blond strands. Bucky hugs back just as hard, and they let go at the exact same time.

A single look is shared, and then they nod.

Secret conversations aren't only spilled in acronyms.

I'm glad to be back, his nod says.

While Steve's says, Now we're alright.

They were. For now, everything was alright.

"You get your orders?" Steve starts walking in the direction that Bucky's heart was tugging in—the direction of your apartment.

He follows, putting one arm around Steve's shoulders. "Sure did. The 107th. Sgt. James Barnes, shipping out on Monday for England."

"Sargeant, huh?"

Under Steve's appraising eyes, Bucky's always felt a little bit analyzed. "Yeah." No inch of him went unnoticed. "I'll do my best to take care of all of them." An artist's eye on you could be an unnerving thing.

It soothed when he smiled. "Of course you will, Buck." Often, Bucky wondered if Steve had any idea of how much power his opinion yielded. "You always do your best." A smile of his alone, and Bucky felt more approved than any superior's highest praise. "I—" he hut himself short, but Bucky knew what he swallowed down. I just wish I could help. "I'm happy for ya."

Always so good, "thank you, Steve." Not a day would go by when Bucky would let it pass the opportunity to thank god for gifting him with Steven Gran Rogers. "Now—" he looked up, seeing your building approach. "You sure she has no idea I'm here?"

Another roll of eyes—Steve could one day get cursed with the sight of his brain forever. "I'm starting to think you're spending too much time with your comrades. You forgot already who's had your six since forever?"

"Awn, Stevie—don't be jealous of my smelly, grumpy men. You'll always be my number one."

"You're ridiculous. Of course she doesn't know. Lady thinks you'll be here on the 4pm train, just like we talked about. She's probably still sleepin' 'cause of her late-night shift."

"Another one?!"

A scoff. "You try to tell Lady what to do and see how it goes. I already know my place of speakin', and it ain't that one."

"God, how on earth did I end up with the two more stubborn people to ever walk this goddamn planet? No, really—"

"Oh, because you're a beacon of flexibility."

"—you two are made from a single mold, and whoever used it on you first, and then her, saw their mistake two heartbeats too late, then broke the damn mold 'cause they knew if they made more, it'd mean world domination."

There's a single second of pause, and then Bucky turns to the amused gaze staring at him. Steve with a hand on his hip and a smirk on his face will always look the same. "You've gotten more dramatic. That's a fuckin' wonder." He turns around laughing to himself and shaking his head. "Go say 'morning' to her. I'm gonna go get tomato sauce, we ran out of it yesterday."

The implication that Steve's been hanging around more registers in all the happy places of Bucky's brain, but everything's washed away by the flood that it's the sight of it—

your window.

Bucky's entire world does the thing: it tunnels.

The same rounded, small rocks that he used on the first date still litter Mrs. Simyl's vase. He picks one, weights it in his hand, and with a heart-thumping loud in his chest, he throws it to your window.

A peck.

KNOCK

Bucky waits: one, two, three heartbeats.

He swallows the lump that rises in his throat.

The sun already rose, but it comes up again.

At least, for him.

When your head pops out in the window, Bucky swears it does.

Like a sniper's barrel, your eyes know exactly where it goes on instinct. They find him underneath your window pulled by the gravity that—with a quick check on his hummingbird of a heart, it's confirmed—still there.

North, meet South.

"Jay?"

"Hi, sweetheart."

Your face disappears, taking everything with you. The light, the warmth, the strenght in the gravitational hold of your beautiful eyes and gaze—as soon as they disappear, Bucky's spell is broken, and his feet gain life.

He knows you're rushing to your door the same way he rushes up the stairs.

He's glad the uniform stayed in his suitcase, safely tucked in his and Steve's apartment. He'd sweat from all the heat he's emmanating, and probably drench you in an ocean before he could get a single kiss.

Bucky's pulled by his North, and when he sees the familiar sight of your door, it's already swinging open.

"Oh, god." There's a breach in time. A break in the fabric of space. One moment, he's a few steps away from you, and the next thing he sees and knows, he has an arm full of you.

"Bucky."

That's him. James, Bucky, Buck, Jay. From all of his names, now's the only time when all of his cells feel slotted into place. Bucky's heard every one of his names, all the ones that matter, and now he is whole.

His voice evades him.

Inside his arms, he's aware that you're shaking, even if the notion takes a moment to register—as it should. He's shaking, too; vibrating, is more like it, because he's here, and now that he can breathe, his body seems incapable of doing so.

He inhales deeply, even if it's all trembling.

Your smell is different from any other. Bucky would recognize in a crowd of millions. He'd find it blindfolded, he was certain of it.

If they made him forget his name, Bucky would be Nobody, but even as Nobody, he would know that this is the scent of his person.

Citrine. Mint leaves. With a deeper inhale, he catches the underlying tone—vanilla. The purest and sweetest form, used in the lotion you put all over your body after showering sometimes, mixed with the unique and personal scent of just you. Vanilla has a taste on you. It's sweet, but not sticky.

It's summer.

Bucky is in love.

When the pull that holds you together seems to loosen its threads, you and Bucky pull back at the same time.

Not too far—neither one is able to go further than millimeters for now, and in the back of his mind, he's thankful that Steve gave the two of you the time you needed.

Just like he and Steve clung to each other like a lifeline for embarrassing minutes that neither one chose to talk about, you two are roped together, and going too far is impossible for now.

The only space is a breath of air separating your heads.

Bucky pulls an arm up, crowding your head inside his forearm. His palm spreads on the top of your head, holding you there.

His eyes find yours, swimming and spilling over.

Your lips tremble when you speak. "You told me you were getting here later," he feels your hand making fists out of his white shirt, resting on the curve of his lower back. After a sniffle, you add, "'m gonna kill you and Blondie," and then, you nuzzle your nose on his.

He laughs. Bucky truly is home. "He was just followin' my orders, lil' witch. No killing, please."

"You two planned behind my back," you go on, sounding small and choked still. His crybaby that never cried before.

Bucky's arm cage around your head got a little tighter, and his arm around your waist pulled you impossibly closer. "Don't cry," he pleaded in a whisper. "It was to surprise ya."

He thinks you're beautiful even with wet, rosy cheeks. "I'm surprised," your laugh came out choked, and you sniffled again. Bucky accepted the tears despite how much his hand itched to wipe them away, and clean your cheeks. Lower, and softer, so much softer than he was used to hearing any voice, you say, "You're actually here..."

The awe in your voice is a sentiment he can understand. "I am."

"I'm not dreaming."

His forehead stays touching yours as he shakes his head, and while it's an uncomfortable angle, but he likes it for now. "No. Seems neither am I." It's the closeness his heart aches for, and achieving it soothes the wrinkles in his soul.

You, on the other hand, seem to need a better angle—your head pulls back against his head, gaining a couple more inches of distance, and his body moves along with yours.

When you're far enough to look at his whole face, Bucky's breath is sucked out of his body.

He's here.

"I missed you, Jay."

And so are you.

Bucky smiles and dives.

Your eyes are closed, lips waiting for his.

If angels sing, this is it. Angels, a choir, or maybe just the white noise of his head subduing, opening up space for this—your lips on his are a single drop falling in a pond, creating ripples until the surface is a still mirror.

Neither one of you moves too much. There isn't back and forth, or any deepening of the kiss. On the contrary.

It is what it is.

A sweet sound of hello. A press of lips, two pieces meeting together, fitting in as one.

When the air he stored runs out and Bucky gasps in your lips, he hears your pleased hum.

You smile, breathing in through your nose. "'m so happy," you inform him.

Bucky laughs. He breathes out, and kisses you again, but messier this time. Rougher. He wants to taste your tongue, wants your oxygen in his veins. He nibbles, bites, sucks on your lips; Bucky finally gets his tongue intertwining with yours, walks you back inside your place, and closes the door with his foot even if somewhere in the back of his mind, he's aware that Steve will come passing by any minute now.

The kiss is enough for now.

A single taste—a sip of a galleon he'll drink whole later tonight, bathe himself, drown in; Bucky pulls back and is pleased to note how pink you look and the puffiness in your lips.

You two exist in silence for a moment, just breathing each other in, and then,

"You ready for a day with Stevie and I?" he asks.

Your smile is enough of an answer. "Where's Blondie?"

"Probably comin' right up."

"'Kay. Cool." You press your lips on his again, melting and humming softly; all the little sounds he's missed. The hums, and ahs you make when melting in his arms that he's taking back to the base with him. "'m gonna change."

"Cool. Let's go."

Your laughter as well—he's pocketing that, and keeping it close to his heart. "That wasn't an invite."

"Was it not? Damn, I could've sworn it was, miss. My bad."

"D'you think I can get any 'changing' done with you in the room?"

Although the question is asked amidst laughter, you seem okay with Bucky glued on your back and stepping where you do, channeling his inner cat. "I have no clue. We'll figure it out."

"And if Steve arrives?"

A cackle from him—you're the witch, but Bucky laughs like one at that joke. "I'm sure your new best friend can find himself just fine in your house. Wasn't he here last night?"

"How d'you know that?"

"He said you two ran out of tomato sauce. He went to get some to cook lunch for us."

"You mean for you to cook lunch for us. We're just sittin' there lookin' pretty and talking your ear off."

"Sweetheart, that sounds marvelous to me."

True as he said to his mother, there is no third-wheeling or chaperoning.

In the same kitchen as his two favorite people, Bucky has one of the loveliest afternoons of his entire life. In fact, his Saturday is so good that Bucky marks the date in the calendar in his mind — the 24th of July — as some special daybreak.

He fits right in. Between the jokes that you and Steve now share and he has no idea what the roots of them are, next to your attentive, hawk-like eyes that never seem to leave him, snuggled by the much smaller frame of a friend who still looks up to him as someone good.

It's a pity that Bucky has no superpowers.

He would fit an entire month right there, in the afternoon reserved for the three of you.

By the time the sun is setting down and you three feel the need to clean up for the exhibition, the trio has already covered every base:

The military. Family. Neighbors (both the annoying as well as the good ones). Steve's stubbornness, and then yours. England. Bucky's squadron, with the specifics of each man he claimed to like.

Bucky laughed. He sobered up—those coal, slimy tentacles of war tried sneaking their way to the front.

Impossible to be done with you and Steve present.

When Bucky comments about separating — 'Steve and I can go to the apartment to get ready then come pick you up, whatcha say?' — he gets the same attitude from both.

"Why would I go stay alone at my place?" you ask.

Steve nods along. "Just wait here 'till she picks up her overnight bag and she'll come with us."

"Yeah. Steve never takes longer than ten minutes to get ready, anyway."

"True. I say Lady and I will be ready before you are," Steve adds with a knowing smile.

You laugh with him. "Oh—that's for sure."

"Hey!" Bucky loves to see you two teaming up. It's the kind of thing he'd like to see forever if he has any say in it. "I don't take that long."

To that, he hears many arguments.

"Oh my god, who is he talking to?" you ask, turning your gaze to Steve.

"I don't know. He's actin' like we don't know him," Steve snorts.

"It's crazy. Did he forget the times we had to wait for him?"

"Many times."

You glance back at Bucky, all smiles and daring. "You think you can hurry up tonight, princess?"

It does something to him. He hates that it does—and he sees and hears it in Steve's laugh that it's obvious, too, that the stupid teasing nickname pulls a string or two of his, and he huffs away from you both. "Ungrateful duo of firecrackers, I swear to god."

"Oh, c'mon!" it's you, rushing to catch up to him, laughing the same as Steve.

"Yeah, c'mon—"

"Don't you dare, Steven," he cuts him off before he can use it too, and it gets only more laughter.

"You didn't answer her question, you know," Steve comments when he catches up to Bucky and you.

He rolls his eyes. "I'll speed up. 's not like I have to look my best—not when you two aren't doing anythin' to deserve it."

"Damn, Jay. Not even a little bit of cologne for me?" you pout.

The gall. The audacity. He huffs and puffs, and turns his eyes away from you. "I'll think about it." He's a joke. Bucky's going to spend at least triple the time in the bathroom, but it's okay, because he'll come out to you and Steve waiting for him.

"Welcome to the Modern Marvels Pavilion and the World of Tomorrow!"

In his uniform, Bucky feels oddly in place.

He's pulled by the sleeves by either you, or Steve. "C'mon, c'mon, Buck, it's starting!" you squeal.

Willing and pliant, that's his role for the whole night. With a smile plastered on his face, and a giddiness he hasn't felt since he was a kid. Not that he was ever this happy in his childhood—this is a new, shinier form of happiness.

It happens because he's in the right place. With the right people.

Also, he paid very close attention to your eyes when he left the bathroom an hour ago.

When Bucky saw that glint, a very familiar one to him, his body responded. He felt your gaze on him. On his uniform. The tension that for a second became almost like humidity in the air, it hung for a few seconds, and it made Steve go to the kitchen with yet another roll of his eyes.

"I'm... gonna go drink a glass of water. You two—yikes. Be quick. The eye fucking is gross."

"Such a gentleman, Steve," you joked, but the lack of eye contact with him kind of ruined it for you.

Bucky approached you, walking in slow and deliberate steps. He allowed you to look at every inch. Feeling it was good, too—your eyes ranking up and down his body was almost a physical touch, and it made the soft spreading of your palm on his chest warmer.

"You look..." the words left you, leaving your lips parted and pink. "Very nice."

Not often did Bucky feel bashful. "Thanks, sweetheart." A rare gem such as this needed to be polished, even if it was perfect in its raw form. Bucky leaned in closer, barely containing his smile, and with his mouth nearing your ears, he whispered. "I have a feeling it's not my hair and my perfume that you like."

The intake of your breath was loud from this proximity. "Jay..."

That whisper alone was enough for him. He whispered your name back and kissed your temple with a smile. "Save all of those thoughts for later, 'kay? All of 'em. I wanna hear everything that's goin' around on that pretty head of yours."

Breathless, you whispered, "'kay'," and then nuzzled your face against his neck before pulling away. The flush was high on your cheeks. Redder than before, and due to more than just makeup. "You really do look handsome," that whisper made his insides tangle, and he enjoyed it.

"'m glad you think so."

That part was only forgotten when he saw the automobiles.

Even if Steve hid it better than you and Bucky, the reality hit you three all the same. Three nerds in a science fairy served for more than entertainment; it meant a night to be remembered.

Bucky gets lost in hours of conversation.

You three see everything. Even the dance floor is forsaken in the name of reading about stuff, theorizing about what is left out of the exposition, and laughing with each other as the ideas that bounce between you three get wilder each time.

It's almost midnight when you three make your way to the apartment.

Bucky is in a tipsy state. Steve—well, his tolerance is not the best, and mixing sugar with alcohol is a bad idea. It's all good though, because you hate the taste of it, and walking between the two of them like a beacon of balance and normalcy is a thing you did before.

Steve's hand hooks through your shoulder, into Bucky's nape.

He talks about the war. The human condition—Mrs. Georgia, from downstairs.

"She's been cryin' every night or two. It's—sad. Loud. God, I'm so glad I'm gonna black out tonight."

Bucky ends up taking off Steve's shoes while you tuck his sleeping body into bed.

He looks up at you, and sees the strand of your hairstyle escaping the pins, framing your face into something more suited for the faint yellow lights of late-night times and the Moonlight outside. "At least he waited 'till he was home," Bucky reasons.

You smile at him. "At least he didn't puke."

"Touché."

Once Steve Rogers is safe and sound, you turn your body to Bucky, both hands placed on your hips.

Here it comes, thinks Bucky...

"Safe and sound."

He smiles. "That he is." Bucky knew he'd be. It wasn't his first time hearing this.

He extends one hand in the air and is delighted when you catch it.

"Let's go?"

It's barely a whisper.

You nod at him, fitting your body under one of his arms as you walk out of the room. In the quiet magnitude of this hour into the night, you whisper, "I should've let you buy me cotton candy."

Bucky closes the door of the room holding back his laughter. "I'll make you scrambled eggs when we get to the hotel."

"Will you?"

"I will."

"I don't know if I trust your tipsy self to a stove."

Bucky groaned, pulling you even closer to him to bury his nose into your hair. "I'll be a hundred percent by the time we make it there."

The conversation goes on in hushed whispers as you two walk, ignoring all the other rare figures you see walking in the streets too, not on purpose—on the fact that it's a new world, already.

As soon as the apartment door was locked behind him, Bucky's world shifted in its axis; everything becomes you.

He's barely aware of what he's answering.

The only thing he knows it's that you're teasing him—he pays attention to the blush he sees forming on your cheeks once you feel his gaze so locked on your lips. He laughs under his breath when you stutter, and then laughs harder when you poke him in the ribs for laughing in the first place.

He feels how warm you are despite how chill the night has become.

Inside his jacket—his uniform, you've found heat.

The hotel room he located for the night is not far from your house itself, and it's one of the most decent ones still inside his budget. Rooms that are nice and clean, plus a decent breakfast.

It was far from what you deserved, but Bucky had years of work ahead of him before he was able to afford that.

When he enters, you take a little spin around.

Bucky puts both yours and his duffel bags on the floor.

He lets you walk around, and take your heels off, his eyes following you.

When they finally land on him, Bucky can almost see the air that stands between you.

Your voice is as low as a whisper. He hears it loud and clear in the deep quiet of the night. "You're not gonna cook for me, are you?"

He's kicking his shoes off as he shakes his head.

Bucky's eyes are so attentive, that he catches the shivers that run through you.

"Tomorrow," he promises.

Your fingers graze the long sleeve of the dress until it hooks on the shoulder pad, but Bucky hums negatively.

The movement stops.

He takes his steps until he's an inch away from you, and breathes in deeply.

"'m pretty sure that's my job."

It was. One of the best parts of it, now that Bucky paid close attention to it. His hands removed the fabric from your skin, exposing it to the light entering the room through the window, and in those moments, Bucky managed to fit in hours.

Every inch of you being exposed to him, it was like he painted it somewhere in his mind, guarding that canvas in a special slide of his subconscious.

When all your clothes were on the floor, he continued his ministrations of sewing all your measurements to memory.

Bucky's hands — palm spread flat, his fingertips, his knuckles — made work of you, while you removed his clothes in return.

Once naked, he could pass on to the next stage:

"Wanna remember how you taste, sweetheart."

The shaky gasp you let out when his words met your ear was too fast for him to catch, but everything else that followed fell into Bucky's lips.

They were wide, hand-made nets, built only for one purpose: to fish every part of you that was delectable.

Bucky started with close-mouthed kisses and ended up almost devouring you. Swallowing you whole.

There were hours between that first and last stage, though.

At first, everything was slow.

Bucky had been so preoccupied back at the base with whether the first time you two fucked would be the same as the ones from before or not, that he missed the entire point.

It had always been great. The connection between you two always started with more than just physical, and when it got to that point, you two were already lost in each other.

This was immersion.

Hearing your tender, then groaned, and later broken moans of "Jay" counted as his sea.

Your eager touches were current, guiding him in.

This was far from fucking. There was nothing crude about the first time—there was only love.

Bucky never made love before, but he understood why not when your body unfolded in front of him. When your legs open wide and everything blossoms, Bucky has full comprehension of what a feeling can do to two people.

Not just any feeling. This.

Bucky's a drunk man.

It's only his grace that you're as far gone as him. As Dionysus blessed—when Bucky's fingers intertwine with yours to replace your fisted hands in the sheets with his own instead, Bucky's gaze catches yours.

He sees the warm and inviting openness of black in your eyes.

Bucky kisses and leaves his feeling all over his path.

As overwhelming as it is, making love is also beautiful. This type of surrender required a level of trust and blinded faith that he's not sure he even had before, but he finds it right there, in bed with you.

The first time is slow.

Both of you taking your time to marvel at how in sync you are—to marvel at how wet one makes the other, and how unashamed both of you feel in touching each and every part.

He's never had anyone touching him the way you do. Bucky gets your lips leaving prints from his face, his chest, arms, and legs, all the way to the curve above his ass.

As he opens you up with his fingers, Bucky keeps watching all the emotions passing through your face.

The first time you make love, in gentle, long, and agonizing steps.

When he pushes inside at last, he can almost swear he hears violins.

Or maybe it's your nails digging at his back—your pained, blissed whines. "Jay."

He's whining, too—your name spills from his lips as much as air does, and you two move not to reach an end, but to feel what is connecting you at that exact time.

When the words leave his lips, Bucky can see them traveling in the air before being sucked in by yours. "I love you, sweetheart."

Out of his lips, into thick, warm air, and falling...

You gasp, closing your eyes for a moment, and Bucky tastes your tears when he's gifted back with, "I love you too, James." It makes him smile, shaking from head to toe like a leaf. "I truly do."

"I know. I feel it."

"It w-was never like—like this. Never before."

An understatement, if he ever heard one. Bucky could feel your heartbeat as if it was his own; it was more than just his cock buried to the hilt inside of your warm cunt, feeling every construction and high of your pleasure, or the vibrations of your moans and the pleas for his name that seemed to reverberate all through his being—

"This—" he bucked his hips harder, just to feel the waves of pleasure cursing through you, and laughed with his lips ghosting your mouth. "This is—oh—it's making love, sweetheart."

"Jay!"

Bucky was unsure of how long it lasted.

Could've been hours, or just a few, blissful minutes.

From the thick layer of sweat that covered your bodies by the time you both came undone, his guess tips more towards the first.

It's almost like seeing a visible thread being cut—when the orgasms hit your bodies, one right after the other, Bucky collapses his back in the bed, carrying your body along with him.

That's where you two stay, for a few moments longer.

"Were we whispering?" you ask.

He likes when your lips are on his skin. They're warm, and he has their shape memorized now. "I think we were." If he was a better artist, he'd draw them. "D'you want me to cook for you now?" he asks with a chuckle.

You tilt your head up, take a second to think it over, then answer with a simple smile.

So Bucky cooks.

He slaps your hand when you try putting on his white t-shirt laying on the ground, commenting, "No need for that at all, c'mon'," and watches with the same pleased and hungry eyes as you stay leaning on the wall as he uses the small stove for a quick meal.

After that, there are other times.

There's the desperate round, and there's the fucking, and the unexpected, and the lazy, 'we're too tired to move but still horny enough for this' moment where he just lays in bed with his hands between your legs, touching your pussy even if he's not actively doing anything.

Bucky washes you with careful hands and a lot of tenderness in the shower, running the cloth and the soap through your marked, sensitive skin as slowly as his sleepiness allows.

"We're gonna have a good day today," you tell him.

Given the whispering tone and slurred words, Bucky assumes you're almost sleeping, too. "Yup. All day to ourselves. Dinner with Steve. Come back here to sleep well."

"I love you, James."

Bucky would never get tired of hearing those words in your voice. He pulls your body close, kissing even if he'll taste soap and warm water. "I love you more." He whispers your name, kisses you again, and turns off the shower head before cold water sprays on his perfect day.

Nothing about today is cold.

Bucky's warm. While you may carry the elegance and magic of the Moon, you're his Sun.

His North, and his Sun, which would always guide him home, for hot and perfect days like this that remind him of why it's good to be alive and to feel all of this love.

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[arminsumi]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🐚 ꒱ BEYOND THE SEA

Armin x fem!reader

Chapter index / Chapter Ⅰ: Secret

Overview; a story of your forbidden love affair with Lt. Armin during the war.

Content; 1940s au, fluff, romance, drama

Warnings; angst, tragedy

A warm sunset light cast over Armin and Eren as they crossed over the bridge that lead to their barracks.

They kept a slow pace and absorbed the warmth of the dozing sun.

"So, are you going to tell me about that nurse who you've been swooning over?" Eren asked nonchalantly.

Armin responded defensively, "I'm not swooning!"

"Yes, you are." He replied with a smirk.

There was a pause of silence between them. Armin let out a suppressed sigh.

"I don't know her name," Armin began.

"You don't even know her name?" Eren interrupted.

"No, but," Armin continued regardless, "I remember hearing her sing down the corridors in the early morning. If I would hear her voice again, then..." He trailed off, almost murmuring dreamily at the end, because of the memory of you appearing in his mind.

Eren waited for Armin to finish his thought, but he never did.

"You can't find someone with just the memory of their voice. What did she look like?" Eren asked.

Armin was visibly struggling to recall the image of you in his mind.

"I can't remember too well." He finally responded, "But I recall her father; he had a sullen face that I won't forget. When he entered the ward once, he gave me this prejudiced look."

"A 'prejudiced look'? Oh, you've got to be kidding me, Armin. You're swooning over the Head Chief's daughter? Do you realize what kind of trouble that could get you into?"

Armin gave a sheepish smile, "I know very well the kind of trouble that it can cause, Eren. I already got in trouble once with him, when he walked into the ward while I was laughing with his daughter."

"What happened?" Eren asked half-sympathetically, half-curiously.

They descended the steps at the end of the bridge, and took a moment to look out onto the glistening sea.

"He called for her to meet him in private. They must have had a brutal argument, because afterwards I saw her wailing on her friend's shoulder, and the next day she didn't show up to administer medicine to the patients. I learned through her friend that she was moved to the East wing, and was forbidden from even walking near the West wing."

Armin distantly observed the rolling waves, feeling his spirit sink as low as the depths of the ocean.

But like a soldier, he quickly masked his feelings, and straightened his posture before his heavy mood affected Eren.

"Let's get back." He said.

Eren didn't say anything, but he mustered a sympathetic look for his friend. He could tell how great of an impression you had on him by how fondly he talked about you.

A deep navy washed over the sky, and dots of stars came out to gleam and twinkle.

The lamp posts lining the cobblestone road lit up. Armin and Eren headed down this road to the barracks, and just before they entered their bunk room, Armin turned to Eren and asked with great seriousness;

"Eren, can you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Promise me that you will keep this between us... if the Captain finds out, he's going to tell the Commander."

Eren scoffed, "I'm sure that would strip you of your 'lieutenant' title very quickly."

"Eren." Armin looked at him pleadingly, "I'm not the only one who would get in trouble; so would she, and I don't want that."

"Yes, yes, alright. I will keep it secret."

"Thank you." Armin thanked him with relief in his voice.

"What's a secret?" Connie smirked when Armin walked into the bunk room.

He had overheard enough of their exchange to become curious.

Armin immediately tried to brush off Connie's curiosity by acting a fool, "Huh?"

"I heard you guys! Come on, what's a secret? You can tell me. I'm the best secret keeper." Connie said.

Eren quipped, "Connie, you can't keep your mouth shut to save your life."

"Hey!" Connie frowned.

Jean snickered behind his sketchbook, so Connie spun around and looked at him.

"Don't you laugh! I'll snatch that thing outta your hand and show 'em what you're drawing — or rather, who you're drawing!"

Armin laughed under his breath while climbing into his cot on the top bunk, "What a promising secret-keeper."

"Mind your own business, buddy!" Jean snapped at Connie.

They playfully bickered, and to deter Connie's curiosity, Armin fueled their jokes. Anyone passing by their window would see the glow of light and hear the ringing laughter coming from within.

But by the midnight hour, the lights were out, and everything fell silent.

Armin tossed around in his cot, his mind buzzing.

"If you keep tossing around like that, your bunk is gonna come crashing down on me." Eren's voice sounded from the bottom bunk.

"You're still awake?" Armin whispered.

Eren spoke in a low voice filled with sarcasm, "Of course, I'm brooding on your tragic love story with that nurse." he said.

Armin excitedly sprung to life at the mention of you, "Oh Eren! I wish you could have met her," he rolled over excitedly in his cot to peer down at Eren, "She had something absolutely wonderful about her. I felt as fulfilled and peaceful in her company as I did when I first saw the sea."

Eren pondered Armin's words in silence.

Eventually, he replied teasingly, "Maybe if this whole lieutenant thing doesn't work out, you can become a poet."

"Hey now, you be careful with what you say. Remember, I'm on the top bunk; I could crush you." Armin warned.

"How intimidating. You should use that line on the battlefield next time, it'll scare them shitless."

The two of them giggled quietly.

"You're not the God of Destruction anymore, you're the Cot of Destruction."

Armin repeated the pun to himself to savor the humor. Connie stirred awake and grumbled for them to shut up.

"Hey, Connie, don't talk to me like that; I'm the Cot of Destruction, you know! I could crush you!"

"What on earth are you on about?" He mumbled sleepily and dozed off without catching the joke.

Eren and Armin's banter tapered off, the atmosphere became still again.

"Eren, do you think I'll meet her again?" Armin asked seriously.

There was a lengthy silence.

"It's more than likely." Eren speculated.

Armin fed on Eren's response as if it were the only thing giving him hope.

Once Eren fell asleep, Armin laid awake in his cot like a lonesome insomniac, daydreaming of you to whittle the hours down until the new day dawned.

The anticipation of his awaiting duties had his gut clenching with anxiety. He was no longer just a somebody on the Captain's squad, but a newly promoted lieutenant; expected to be the replacement of the Commander, should the war take him.

[bwallure]

THE MALTESE FALCON (1941) dir. John Huston

[random-brushstrokes]

Celeste Woss y Gil - Mercado (1944)

[buckyysdoll]

— 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 —

જ⁀➴ 18+ MDNI — • summary: even bucky’s parents in the bedroom next door won’t stop him from getting you off; • cw: smut, no direct p in v but it’s referenced at the end, hand riding through clothes, implied hj/bj; • pairing: 40s! bucky x f! reader

MAIN MASTERLIST

Your moan was abruptly cut off with a hand at your mouth, so it came out as muffled. Even still, though, there was nothing that could silence your desperate sounds.

Not even Bucky.

Especially not even Bucky considering it was his fingers that were inside you.

“Shh doll, you gotta keep quiet.” There was something like pride in that sly little laugh. Pride for how you were a mess on his hand while his parents slept soundly next door.

Next door — as in the very next room with only one wall between you, and thin. Any second now they could open that door, and in truth the thrill just made it even better.

“You don’t want anyone to hear us, now do you?” Bucky’s smile was clear in his voice. And beyond that was something much deeper, much softer. It was a whisper smooth as velvet in the dark.

There was a challenge, too, in the words, and you would’ve swatted at him had you had your coherence. But as it was you couldn’t think beyond the sweet ache between your legs, and your steadily rising need that only Bucky could help relieve.

He wasn’t even touching your skin, for God’s sake, but working you up through your panties; you sat with your thighs parted on him, against him, straddling his waist with his hand up your skirt.

For all that you cried out, though, it may as well have been his cock; may as well have been both of you stripped fully bare, and not only heavy petting through clothes.

“Please,” was all you could say, and you fought to keep your eyes on his own. With your hands braced on his shoulders like this, every curl of his fingers had your own on him tightening, clutching at your boyfriend as he touched you through the fabric and your wetness soaked through to his hand.

It didn’t escape his notice and dear God, you could see he was hard — but as he had said, this was your time now, and he wouldn’t stop until you were coming.

Until he could raise his hand to his lips and taste what you’d done for him, given.

And by God, if there was one thing at all you didn’t want — it was for that boy to even think of stopping.

You wanted — needed — to come, felt like you couldn’t breathe as Bucky’s touch took you higher. He removed the hand from your mouth when convinced you wouldn’t expose yourselves with a cry, and instead held you by the hip to guide your soft, undulating movements.

But as you ground against him, so wet and aching, your urgency grew; enough to make him feral at the sight of you like this, so plain and obvious in the tent of his trousers.

And yet still, he made no move to help it. Instead he just watched and watched —

And spoke.

“What would they think if they knew what you were letting me do to you, hm? You know they think you’re so sweet and pure, but I personally need some convincing.”

It was just like Bucky to choose the absolute worst time at all for the tease, his movements building and coiling the threat of release up inside you, but then slowing with speech.

You bucked your hips into his hand with your own clutching steady to his biceps and whined. “Bucky,” you got out with your face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing him in with the feel of his fingers inside you almost being too much.

You were gonna come soon, and you knew it — so did he. It was both too much and not enough.

Not even nearly enough.

The words cut through you like a death knell and all the room around you was a barely-there haze. There wasn’t the window, or the curtains you’d drawn; not the radio so quiet on the table by the bed.

Indeed, even that beneath both of your bodies seemed redundant when compared to his touch, and so there was him, just him, and how close you were; your thighs soaked, his fingers more so, with arousal.

And so indeed no, it damn well wasn’t enough. You needed more of him, all of him, all you could have —

You needed to do something, anything, to ease the sure ache between your parted legs.

And so that was when you started to kiss him, starting firstly at his jaw, smooth and recently shaved. You tracked it down to the curve of his neck and left a little trail to his ear; a series of open-mouthed kisses that had Bucky cursing under uneven breaths.

Thinking, Oh now how the tables had turned, you claimed him in the only way you could.

All the while you carried on rocking your hips, building pace as you chased your own high; and by the time you’d kissed at his temple, working down to the corner of his mouth — he was gone.

You didn’t even know where you were but Bucky’s mouth parted against your own lips, his tongue an eager thrust as he sought out your own until you were just hands and fire and teeth.

With each roll of your hips, your blouse revealed itself as much too thin. You were rocking against Bucky’s chest and the friction was too much, it felt too good; your nipples peaked hard against goose flesh as shivers overtook you, still brushing up on him —

And his taste, dear god, his taste —

He would take you right now, right here in this bed if he could, and you’d let him, but now —

His fingers curled deeper until the telltale signs of your legs softly shaking began.

You hadn’t gone further than this, not yet, hadn’t ventured beyond underwear. And as you thought it, you couldn’t help imagining how it would be —

Skin on skin, panting breaths. The weight of Bucky’s body on you, between your legs, inside you —

The tremors in your legs — now much more violent, urgent, desperate — ran straight to your bones, and your sex clenched empty around the lack of more of him inside you.

Release threatened to spill, and spill hard, as you clutched and just rode him, moaning softly, breaths hitching —

As all the while your Bucky kissed and loved you.

Worshipped his girl.

For now it was his turn to trail wet kisses down the length of your neck, and you held fast to his hair — drove your fingers into the mass of dark silk and cried out.

You couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe beyond him, and it very nearly hurt to feel this good and sore. It felt if the whole damn world was in you.

And he was it.

And knowing he marked you with his mouth even as you came hard on his hand, you clutched tight to him and tighter even still, nails scrabbling for purchase as the precipice came near.

Came near as you free fell right down from it with a cry, with a plea. You barely heard the soft muttered praises he said as you shuddered apart from atop him.

“Bucky, Bucky,” was the mantra on your breath, but it was what you said next that undid him. Until now, he’d fought fucking hard to keep his painful erection in the background of his mind, counting up numbers with his focus on you, every part he could reach, just to keep it at bay.

Now though, your aching desperation was his saving grace. It was his own confession.

And so the groan he let out was obscene when you cried out, “James, please, I need you.”

And of course, you needn’t have to say the words twice. He was right there with you every single time.

Bucky guided you through each convulsion and urged you to take all he could give, to take anything he could offer you now, no longer caring how loud you were or became.

He didn’t care for anything beyond you, in this moment. Anything but you looking like this:

On him with your cheeks flushed, mouth in a silent, open ‘O’. You gone weak against his front, bloused chest to his own, still now from the friction of before. Foreheads together and hearts pounding fast, he held you through the slight aftershocks.

Your hair was damp at your temples, curling slightly, and your skin was slick with sweat. Even his was hot and held that familiar post-release sheen you so loved.

And though you hadn’t even touched him anywhere below the belt, you saw his eyes blown wide with arousal as he raised those two fingers to his mouth, and then sucked.

You might’ve come again right there and then, just seeing that. Would’ve were it not for the fact you wanted to pleasure him now, in return.

The hard-on so apparent in his trousers would no longer be ignored for the sake of your need.

And so you didn’t take your eyes of Bucky as you let him brush your hair back from your face, allowed him to press one last kiss to your mouth and murmur softly, “That’s it, doll. That’s it.”

But the answer you gave was spoken in just subtle movements as you shifted position, edging backwards down the bed on your hands and knees until you came to where you wished to be most. You didn’t even bother to pull your skirt back down to pool at your ankles; you felt no need to fix the buttons of your blouse that had since come undone.

You just met his gaze from where he rested at the headboard while you lowered your head to his lap.

The look in his eyes was unhinged, and just one glance at his face spelt sex. He hadn’t even gotten inside you, not yet, and still his cheeks were flushed, eyes blown wide.

It was so plain what you’d been doing with his lips full and glistening, wet; swollen red. But if anyone had walked in that room right then, no love nor money would’ve made any difference.

And as you lightly tugged on a button of his pants — a request, to which he eagerly nodded — you resolved to make him feel as good as you had in the place he’d just made in his arms.

Resolved it as you bared him from his trousers to the boxers beneath, already worshipping the sight that met you and the sense that it would be a much longer night than you’d both planned.

✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪

[danskjavlarna]

Source details and larger version.

Ornate capitals and other fancy vintage letters.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Love and War

Previous Chapter Masterlist

Synopsis: Bob Floyd never expected to fall in love during the war, especially not with a pretty, young nurse during basic training. But love works in funny ways and can their love stand the rest of time, the war and the distance that separates them. Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+.

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Alabama, 1947

“Eugene? Honey, come on we’re going to be late.” (Y/n)’s voice echoed through the house as she hurriedly tried to fit everything into her bag. Her youngest son, Thomas, cradled to her chest as he babbled, grabbing fistfuls of her neatly curled hair. From down the corridor she heard a cacophony of laughter as Bob emerged with Eugene tucked under his arm as he tickled his son.

“There’s my boys. Come on, we've got to go, we've got a drive ahead of us.”

Bob nodded, placing little Eugene to the floor. He scrambled away running to his mother. The boy was the spitting image of his father, blonde hair slicked down, mischievous blue eyes, the same cheeky smile. (Y/n) handed Tommy over to Bob as she picked Eugene up, hurrying the little family out of the door and to the car.

The drive wasn’t too long, only three hours from Louisiana to Alabama but with a small baby and a three year old it wasn’t going to be boring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pulling up the familiar drive, (Y/n) watched as Bob’s face turned into an immediate grin upon seeing Albert, with a similar smile on his face, appearing on the porch. Bob pulled the car to a halt, jumping out nearly before it had stopped. Albert hurried down the steps throwing his arms around Bob’s shoulder.

“I miss you,” Bob mumbled into Albert’s neck.

“I missed you too.”

Both men pulled away, clapping each other on the back before Bob turned to (Y/n), he stepped forward, taking Tommy from her arms so she could help Eugene out of his seat. When they both looked up Mary was hurrying down the steps, a small bundle nestled in her arms and Bonnie hot on her heels.

“It’s good to see you Mary.” Both women gave each other a small hug and a smile.

“Who’s this little guy?” Albert asked, peeking down at little Tommy who was wriggling in his blankets in Bob’s arms.

“This is Thomas,” Bob said quietly, gazing down at his son in adoration. Albert looked up quickly, a sharp intake of breath could be heard.

“After Jackson?” He asked, his voice slightly squeaky.

“Yeah, after Jackson.” Both men shared a knowing look, a look that could only be shared by two people who had been through absolute hell together. Everyone was quiet for a moment until Eugene started crying that Bonnie wouldn’t share her toys, causing all four parents to hurry the children inside in a desperate attempt to distract them. It worked and soon both children were playing happily while both baby Tommy and Mary and Albert’s son, Ronald, slept peacefully side by side.

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The morning quickly moved into the afternoon and then evening. The sun began to dip in the sky, casting a golden glow through the stained glass window in the kitchen.

Both women were occupied with the children so Bob and Albert took a moment's peace, sitting quietly on the porch swing. They sat in silence for a long while, a comfortable silence much like the ones they had shared on many nights through the war. They knew exactly what the other was thinking without even saying it, a silent conversation between their eyes.

Bob let out a deep sigh, running his hand through his blonde locks. They were getting a little long, hanging into his eyes sometimes, much longer than the army would ever have let him have it.

“I think of him, you know…Jackson. I think about him every day, every damn day,” Albert sighed, he inhaled his cigarette smoke deeply.

“He was a good kid.” Bob replied. He could feel his eyes becoming heavy, filling with unshed tears that caused them to glisten in the setting sun. Albert looked over at him, his own tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks.

“We did it, Bob,” Albert grinned tearfully. “We made it home.”

“Yeah…” Bob sniffed loudly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “Yeah we did.”

“We survived for him. We made it back just like we promised. We survived Bob.” Albert sobbed. Despite two years having passed since they had finally returned home to the States, they were never the same. The agony that they both felt at the thought of their fallen comrade, just a boy really. It was an agony that many felt, having created such a bond that could never be broken, having formed such friendships that would last a lifetime. A brotherhood.

Sitting on that porch in Alabama next to his friend Bob knew that he’d done good by his promise to Jackson. He’d made it and he was living his life to the fullest. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as his wife cradled baby Thomas close to her, her lips moving quietly as she sang to him. He loved her more than anything else in this world and he vowed to tell her that every single day for the rest of their lives.

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